


Heart on a Trigger

by Cinlat



Series: Meet Me On The Battlefield [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Explosions, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Infuriating Outlander, Interspecies Relationship(s), Knights of the Fallen Empire, LLF Comment Project, Lovers to Friends to Lovers, Mandalorian, Mando'a, Minor Character Gets Promoted to a Main Character, Much fighting, Multi, Okay....Probable Character Death, Old Republic Era, Possible Character Death, Reckless Behavior, Retelling, Sexual Tension, Sporadic use of the Force, kotfe, long parted lovers reunite, swearing in various languages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 23:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 107,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12143250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinlat/pseuds/Cinlat
Summary: All Fynta Wolfe needed was her beskar’gam and a smart mouth to finish the job. Unfortunately, the Commander of Havoc Squad couldn't survive on luck and stubbornness forever. Eventually, the galaxy would get its due.I'm not going to call this an AU, but I probably shouldn't claim 100% canon either. Let's go with "taking creative liberties" instead.





	1. Hollow Promises

**Author's Note:**

> _Heart on a Trigger_ is the sequel to _Family is More Than Blood_. I had planned to start the KotFE much later in the story, but, as soon as I heard _Dark On Me_ by Starset, I couldn't get this chapter out of my head. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this newest series, and that it lives up to the love that its predecessor received.

**3637 BBY**  
**Wild Space  
** **Thunderclap**

"It went fine last time," Fynta argued. "As far as Sith go, Marr's pretty level headed."

Aric watched from the bed as his wife combed through her hair. He agreed that Darth Marr was a reasonable—whatever he was, probably human. That still didn't mean that Jorgan liked the idea of Fynta going alone. She glanced at him through the tiny medical mirror on her desk and sighed. "The ship is full to the brim already. If I take the entire squad aboard, it might tip things into chaos. Marr didn't ask; this was my call."

"Then don't take the entire squad, just me." The commander of Havoc Squad needed  _someone_  to watch her back, damn the regulations.

Fynta set the hairbrush on the desk and spun the chair around, propping her elbows on her knees. The small white stone Jorgan had given her years ago slipped out of her bodysuit to dangle from her neck as Fynta leaned forward. She'd never taken it off without need, claiming that it was as good as any wedding band. The serious expression on his wife's face made Aric's gut clench. "You're my XO, Jorgan, you need to stay with the ship this time. Ret'lini."

 _Just in case_ , Aric hated that word, and Fynta only called him  _Jorgan_  now when she was driving home the fact that she was Major Wolfe, Havoc Squad commander, not just his wife. "Fine," he grumbled. "Take someone else."

Fynta held up a hand and started counting off fingers. "Can't take Dorne, she's a traitor in their eyes."

_One._

"Yuun will be running all of our snazzy new spyware from the ship."

_Two._

"Vik . . . well, because he's Vik."

_Three._

"And Cormac's still down from the bug he picked up on Athiss." Fynta paused, tapping her chin in mock consideration. "Guess I could always take the new See-two unit. Although, he's just as useless as the one I jettisoned."

Four other members of the most elite squad the Republic could offer, and not a single one of them qualified to go aboard the Sith flagship to look after their commander. It was times like this when Jorgan wished Fynta had made Dorne her XO, instead of him.

"We will be dropping out of hyperspace in thirty minutes," Yuun reported over the intercom.

Jorgan had a bad feeling. Fynta felt it too; he could see it in her eyes when she smiled. She waited to see if Yuun had anything else to offer, then climbed onto the bed to lean over Jorgan. It would have been a perfect opportunity to flip his wife onto her back and enjoy the surprised laughter at being caught off guard. If only his stomach wasn't rolling with dread.

"It'll be fine," Fynta repeated, kissing the top of his head before rolling off to her waiting armor. Jorgan knew she was lying; they both did.

"Fine," the Cathar growled, rising to follow. "I'm at least walking you out." He grabbed his own armor and began snapping on the plates. He'd have to put it on anyway. _Ret'lini._

Fynta smiled as she slapped a hand on her helmet. "I'll leave this in your care until I return." Jorgan started to argue, but the decision had already been made. Her helmet had to stay on board the Thunderclap as a show of goodwill.

At the airlock, gears ground together, muffled by the vacuum outside while the two ships connected. The Thunderclap had been directed to the port side of the Devastator, and Fynta had been assured that no one would touch their ship while under Marr's protection. The only problem was, they were surrounded by an Imperial fleet should Marr decide he no longer wanted to extent that protection.

The docking procedures were almost complete. On a whim, Jorgan took Fynta's face in both of his hands, surprisingly aware of how small she seemed, and pressed their lips together. She reciprocated, hooking her fingers over the top of his chestplate to pull him closer. Then, the airlock hissed, and he was forced to break away before it opened. Fynta held his gaze for a few seconds longer, then reached behind her neck. "Here, keep this for me too." The necklace dangled through her fingers as she held it out to Jorgan. "Give it back when we see each other again."

Jorgan accepted the small chain with a nod before turning to walk down the tunnel that led away from the airlock. Fynta valued this trinket more than any other possession. It was her sign to him that she expected to come back. Aric was overwhelmed by the need to give her something in return. Grabbing her elbow, he pulled Fynta to a stop, and slipped his glove off to remove the leather band Fynta had given him shortly after they exchanged vows.

"For luck, sir," Jorgan stated plainly, ever aware that they were within visual of the soldiers waiting in the docking bay.

Fynta accepted the band of leather, securing it in one of the pouches on her belt. "Much appreciated, Captain." Without another word, both Havoc commanders continued their progress towards the unknown.

Aric and Fynta stopped at the end of the tunnel, he could go no further. An honor guard waited, a mixture of Republic and Imperial troops lining the hallway. "Top-off and weapons check," Fynta commanded over her shoulder, almost a whisper. "Let's keep this quick."

Jorgan nodded. "I'll keep my weapons handy. Whatever happens, we'll be ready."

"Good man." Fynta took a deep breath and faced the waiting soldiers. "I'll see you soon."

Aric watched his wife walk down the line of troops to the skinny brunette in Imperial colors waiting at the end. Fynta stood tall, moving with the natural swagger of a soldier who lived in the heavy armor she wore. "Major," The woman greeted with a stiff, albeit, Imperial salute. "Darth Marr awaits you on the bridge. I trust you remember the way?" There was a note of accusation in her tone. Havoc had breached the Sith's ship shortly after the Ziost mission on the orders of the Supreme Chancellor, who had been convinced that Marr hid valuable intel on the Emperor's whereabouts. That mission had been the final straw that won the Sith's respect.

Fynta glanced back at the line of soldiers, "Everyone seems to be working together well." The statement stood as a reminder that they were on the same side again, for however long it lasted.

"We have a few veterans from Yavin to set the example," the woman answered. "And Darth Marr's orders on the matter were quite clear."

A Republic soldier stepped forward, garnering both women's attention. He had tan skin, black hair, and multiple scars disfiguring his face. "Welcome, Major. If Havoc needs anything, it's yours."

"Thanks, Lieutenant." Fynta waved away his salute, then motioned to the insignia on his chest. "You were on Yavin, weren't you?"

The man's smile widened. "I was, sir. My regiment helped storm the guard's training ground after your squad cleared the way. You didn't leave much for us to do."

Fynta put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad you made it through, we lost a lot of good soldiers during that op." With one final glance back at her husband, she started towards the interior of the ship. Jorgan waited until she turned the corner before returning to his duties aboard the Thunderclap. Still, the weight in his stomach grew, along with the length of his stride.

Jorgan jogged back to the Thunderclap and shut the airlock behind him. "Okay, Yuun, time to fire up the new toys." So far, things were going well. There appeared to be an even Republic to Imperial ratio, so why was his gut so tight?

The Gand stood at the holoterminal, already running the spyware through any system he could slice into. Dorne had Fynta's POV pulled up on the flat screen on the far wall. She'd outfitted the armor with one of their new micro cameras since the major's helmet was sitting on their bed.

"— _Just a couple of dust-ups, and nobody's been knifed, you lost the bet. Pay up!"_  It was a woman's voice, low-born Imperial by the sound of her.

"Bug Boy's got audio up!" Vik called from where he sat across from Cormac playing Sabaac. Given the latter's fatigued state, the Weequay didn't even have to cheat, but the stubborn man refused to return to bed until Fynta was back on the ship. Jorgan rolled his eyes, but admitted to being impressed by the quality of sound as the two Imps continued to squabble.

" _The mission isn't over yet,"_  a man with the same accent argued.  _"I'm telling you, one of these Republic goons is going to pull a blade before all's said and done."_ Jorgan and Elara shared intrigued glances. It was odd hearing the candid opinion of Republic soldiers straight from an Imperial grunt's lips. To them, Havoc was the lowest scum, not an elite savior.

" _Not a chance. They want this job done as bad as we do . . . ."_  The voices faded, but that conversation made it harder to think of Imperials as wet-droids instead of sentient beings.

Shaking the distractions clear, Jorgan turned towards Yuun. "Any luck on visual yet?" Havoc had gained access to a new virus that, if implemented properly, should allow them access to the ship's security feed without triggering any alarms.

"Yuun has nearly aligned the harmonies of the Thunderclap and Devastator's electrical pathways, sir."

"Has she started knocking heads yet?" Vik asked as he leaned closer to the barely conscious Cormac. Jorgan offered a warning glare when it looked like the Weequay might be considering an unpleasant prank.

"No. She's stalling in order to allow us time to get our systems online." Dorne stared at the screen with an intensity that rivaled Jorgan's, as if ready to dive through it should the need arise. Aric joined her and crossed his arms, watching the shaking images of theDevastator's interior pass by at a deliberately slow pace.

"You okay?" Jorgan asked quietly.

Elara took a slow breath. "I believe I'm having one of those gut feelings that you and the major are always going on about."

The Cathar nodded and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure everything will be fine." As he turned back towards the holo, Jorgan swallowed his urge to vomit. A squad wide bad vibe, that was a first; it couldn't bode well.

"Yuun has established video feed, Captain." The Gand stepped back as a plethora of images flooded the holoterminal from more than fifty different cameras. Just as quickly, all those not involving Fynta's trek through the ship vanished, leaving them with only ten to watch.

Jorgan leaned against the terminal and pointed to the two best angles. Yuun adjusted the dials, and the images cleared into easily followed frames. One from the back, the other from somewhere above. Fynta walked to the front of the bridge through rows of men and women working silently at terminals sunken into the floor. Not a single one glanced up from their station, Imperial training at its finest.

When the major reached the last step, she spoke, her voice echoing in the large, sparsely furnished room.  _"I got your message. Have you really found him?"_

Marr didn't turn to greet Fynta. He stood still as a statue, staring out of the viewport with arms crossed over his broad chest.  _"I can sense him now."_  The man's deep voice rasped through his mask.  _"We grow closer every moment. Our former Emperor is out there."_

 _Our former Emperor._  Jorgan couldn't see Fynta's face in detail, but he imagined her eyebrows had shot up. Instead of arguing, however, she let it slide.  _"Do we know what could have brought him so far out? My ship's charts don't have much."_ Fynta stopped beside the large Sith to join his examination of the empty blackness beyond. Jorgan took a moment to appreciate the size difference in the two. Fynta barely reached Marr's shoulders and had none of the intimidating spikes. Just her beskar'gam and a smart mouth, which usually got the job done.

" _There are rumors of many civilizations in the region, but our only outposts nearby were destroyed without explanation some time ago. The culprits were never determined."_ Still, the man stood motionless. Then suddenly, he rounded on the major, his tone switching from calm to angry in a flash. _"Why travel so far? Why consume every living thing on Ziost, then turn and flee into the depths of Wild Space?"_  Jorgan realized that the attack on Ziost had meant something to the Empire after all. It was an affront to everything they'd held to for hundreds of years. Suddenly, they had no direction, and it terrified them.

Fynta didn't flinch. _"For all his shows of power, he must have a weakness, or he wouldn't have stopped with Ziost,"_  she answered, her tone placating. Jorgan knew better. Fynta was scared too, because she didn't have any more idea about what to do when they found the bastard than anyone else. She still had nightmares; they both did. And so far, every plan they'd considered had been doomed to failure.

" _That would be reassuring, wouldn't it?"_  Darth Marr, the most powerful member of the Dark Council, carried on a conversation with a soldier of the Republic as if they were on equal footing. Except, Fynta wasn't just  _some_  soldier. She was a woman with a knack for surviving insurmountable odds and uniting warring factions against a single enemy. For the first time, Aric saw her as Marr did: someone to be feared, a better ally than enemy.

" _If we do locate him, I believe that I can press the Dark Council into line,"_  Marr paused, mask turning slightly towards Fynta.  _"But, what of the Republic? The cooperation we've received has been beneficial—but limited, and apparently unofficial. Will your government help destroy this threat?"_

Even after the mess on Ziost, Saresh wouldn't publically ally with the Empire to take on this new threat as a united front despite the success of Yavin 4. Fynta sighed. _"I can't speak for anyone outside my squad, but rest assured that Havoc wants to see that shabuir destroyed as much as you do."_

" _I'm told the Chancellor has contacted you personally. More than once. Perhaps you could initiate next time—"_

The Sith's accusation died on his lips as one of the techs shot up from his terminal.  _"My lord! Sensor contact, fifteen klicks."_  The man bent close to his screen for the rest of the readout.  _"Small—no life form readings—some kind of probe, perhaps?"_

Jorgan looked over at Yuun. "Do we have eyes on it?" Long fingers slid over the keys, calling forth another image to join the ones from the bridge to reveal a medium sized, star burst shaped projectile. Jorgan didn't recognize its make.

" _Readings are identical to scans from the unknown force that attacked Korriban,"_  the tech continued, taking his seat again.

" _Raise shields. Pursue and destroy,"_  Marr ordered.

Jorgan heard the nearest engine roar to life at the same time that the floor began to vibrate. "Hold on, everyone."

Vik stood at the radar terminal, blinking stupidly. "Uh, you guys need to see this." The Weequay waved his hand without taking his eyes off the screen. Had it not been for the unfamiliar tone in Vik's voice, Jorgan might have told him to shove it. However, something had clearly spooked the Weequay.

"Blast," Jorgan swore. A perfect checkerboard of straight-lined, red dots cluttered the screen. "It's an ambush."

Jorgan growled and jammed his finger in his ear to activate the small communications bead. "Major, come in. You need to get back to the ship now." Static met his hail, so he tried again. "Fynta?" Damn. The comms were already jammed. Whoever this attacker was, they worked quickly.

The Cathar pointed at Yuun, "We need communications back up,  _now_." Instead of letting the urgency of their situation overwhelm him, Jorgan chose to be productive, taking up another terminal to aid in the attempt of reestablishing contact with their commanding officer.

" _Come about 180 degrees!"_  Marr's voice grabbed Jorgan's attention again. They were taking evasive maneuvers. When a projectile slammed into the Imperial ship hard enough to jar the Thunderclap, Jorgan grabbed the console to steady himself.

" _We've been boarded! All decks reporting hostiles,"_  another voice called over the commotion of alarms.

"Yuun, comms?" Jorgan's chest squeezed tighter as another line of code failed to break through the alien firewall.

The Gand hunched over the terminal, shaking his head vigorously. "This one apologizes and will keep working." Yuun replied, the lack of third person honorific being a testament to his stress level.

" _I'll sweep for boarders."_  Jorgan heard Fynta call, and he couldn't stop the growl of annoyance that tore from his throat. _Blasted woman, get back to the ship!_  But, she wouldn't, because there were lives at stake, and Fynta wouldn't leave them.  _Damn it, she doesn't have her helmet._

Jorgan did the only thing he could think to do. He reverted to his ops command days and began dishing out orders. "Dorne, follow the major's progress through the ship while Yuun is working on comms. Vik, get off your ass and guard the airlock. I'm going after her." To his relief, the Weequay didn't argue. "Cormac," Jorgan put an arm around the big man and hauled him upright with a grunt. "I need you on the radar, if anything changes, I want to know about it." He deposited his friend in the seat and went to get his rifle.

"No can do," Vik shouted from the hall. "Airlock's jammed shut. We're not going anywhere unless you can breathe in zero-G."

Jorgan ground his teeth and swore under his breath. The Cathar stormed up to the door and put his boot to it with enough force to make the seals groan in complaint. He might be able to make it with his suit sealed, but that would put everyone else aboard the Thunderclap at risk.

"Hey!" Vik leapt back. "Did you hear me, furball? The seal's broken; there isn't any oxygen out there."

Jorgan glared at the Weequay before admitting defeat. "Fine, stay here and make sure no one comes through."

When Jorgan took up his post at the terminal again, it was to find Fynta fighting droids alongside a mixture of Imperial and Republic troops. They followed her lead without question as she led a massacre through Marr's ship. So far, none had gotten close enough to do any damage, but these droids, these  _Skytroopers_ , were completely new tech. They'd cropped up in a couple of scuffles on Outer Rim planets, but all that had been left by the time reinforcements arrived were useless pieces of scrap, as if they self-destructed anytime one received a catastrophic injury.

" _The shield generator is under attack. Defend it,"_  Marr instructed over Fynta's frequency.

The back and forth between the Sith and Jorgan's wife annoyed him. "How can Marr talk to her, but we can't?"

"Signals are being jammed by both fleets. This one is ashamed to admit that the Thunderclap is caught in the middle. This one will keep trying," Yuun replied without looking up.

Jorgan snarled in frustration and began pacing. If Marr was jamming frequencies outside his ship, and this other fleet outside of theirs, that put the Thunderclap in a veritable signal void between the two. He sighed, at least they still had eyes and ears on the major. Then, the video feed went dark, throwing the terminal into shadow.

" _Sensors have detected enemies in the port section. Destroy them,"_ Marr commanded, proving that they still had audio. The echo of blaster fire and screams set Jorgan's teeth on edge.

"Aren't  _we_  in the port section?" Vik called from the hallway.

 _"Shab. Are you guys getting any of this?"_  Fynta asked.  _About damn time,_  the Cathar growled inwardly. As far as he knew, this was the first time she'd tried to hail them.  _"Jorgan, do you copy? You've got enemy droids coming your way."_

 _"Don't go that way!"_  Someone shouted, Imperial by the sound of it. Jorgan could hear Fynta's boots on the metal floor; she was running.  _"Blasted droids have the run of the place."_

" _Where else are you going to go?"_  Fynta asked.  _"Stand and fight."_

Blaster fire continued in the background long enough that it eventually became just another sound. Meanwhile, Fynta kept trying to contact her ship. Jorgan heard the familiar sound of Fynta's rifle, not a lot of guns had percussion like hers. When it stopped, he heard voices again. Imperial and Republic, but a lot closer than the troops she'd run past. Jorgan listened carefully, trying to pick up on clues to determine her state of wellbeing.

" _Get this blast door shut. That shield won't hold forever,"_  the Imperial shouted.

" _We can't just leave them in there! We have to help,"_  a Republic soldier argued.

" _We have to hold this ground,"_  the Imperial replied in a calm voice, though the undertones were strained.  _"They have their job, we have ours."_

Jorgan heard an explosion, close enough to make the Thunderclap shutter, followed by a scream, and his heart pounded against his ribs while he waited to hear the damage report. What the Cathar wouldn't give for a video feed, if only to see if Fynta was injured.

" _Drop the shield and let me through,"_ Fynta ordered.  _"I can handle this."_  Her tone sent a shiver through Jorgan. She was out for blood, which made him wonder who the man was that had screamed. The screeching of bent tracks followed the order, and Jorgan just barely caught her whispered curse.  _"Survived Yavin to die here. What a waste."_  Jorgan understood then. The soldier must have been the one she'd talked to on her way in. The one with the badly scarred face.

Jorgan stood motionless, unable to think of anything else to do while he listened to the sounds of battle on the other end of the comms. He couldn't even offer encouragement or let Fynta know that her squad was alive. "Sir," Dorne nearly whispered, pulling his attention away for a moment. "I'm afraid I won't be able to regain control of the video feed. They've knocked out the cameras on the ship itself." The woman glanced at the flat screen. "And, her personal view is being jammed. We'll have to make do with audio."

Jorgan glanced at Yuun. The Gand visibly shook, and Aric decided not to ask about comms again, he knew Yuun would pull through. He always did. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Dorne split her time between looking over Cormac's shoulder and listening to the sounds of battle at the terminal with Jorgan. Whatever was going on, there was a lot of it. He hated standing by, feeling useless. It reminded him too much of his ops commander days on Ord Mantell when the mission was going down the toilet, and all he could do was watch. Suddenly, he was back there, watching a young sergeant, bleeding and bruised, fight through an Imperial volcano fortress, and knowing full well that she probably wouldn't survive.

 _But she did,_  Jorgan reminded himself sternly.  _That mission, and so many others._

The blaster fire stopped and Fynta's voice filled the ship again.  _"Regroup at the bridge, we can't lose control of this ship."_

 _"Right away, sir,"_  the Imperial replied.

The Thunderclap jarred violently. Metal scraping across metal so loud that everyone reacted by covering their ears. "Uh, Captain." Cormac motioned Jorgan over. "We've got problems."

The neat line of red dots began to spread out like a hive of bees shaken from the nest. The final assault had begun. "Yuun . . . ."

"Yuun has achieved comlink contact!" The Gand almost shouted, then darted to the bridge.

Jorgan's heart skipped a beat. "Good work, prep us for takeoff as soon as we receive orders from Fynta." He jammed his finger in his ear again. "Major, do you read?" The ship rocked again, causing Dorne to lose her footing in her attempt to take up the Gand's abandoned terminal.

 _"Jorgan, is that you? I've been trying to contact yo—"_  The ship leaped wildly, cutting her off. She must be close.

Comms blinked out for a second, during which Yuun cut in over the intercom. "Yuun cannot withdraw from the ship. Connections are jammed."

"Fynta, do you copy? We can't detach. Repeat, airlock is blown out, and docking clamps aren't responding." The light had come back on at some point, reconnecting them with the major. "We can't come in, and we can't detach. Do you copy?"

 _"I copy, Jorgan. I'm on my way."_ A little of the tension left his chest. She'd responded. They had comms again, and she was almost to the ship.

The next strike nearly flung Jorgan and Dorne on the floor, and he urged Fynta to move faster before they were physically ripped from Marr's ship. "Cut us loose, then get your ass on board, sir," the Cathar glowed. Vik neglected to remark on Jorgan's breach of protocol when he stumbled up the stairs and threw himself into one of the seats lining the main room.

Aric heard Fynta's boots over the audio between explosions and blaster fire as she ran down the hall; she'd be coming up on them any minute now. The hydraulics outside the ship groaned, and the Thunderclap broke free. Fynta was just outside the door, all they had to do was reattach somewhere else to collect her.

Jorgan staggered onto the bridge as another nearby explosion shook the deck. He motioned to Yuun, who gave up the pilot's seat without a word. "We're clear, but I'm seeing a lot of red dots on the sensor grid out here. What's the plan?" The Cathar waited for directions to an available airlock close by.

The silence stretched, but Jorgan knew they hadn't lost connection because he could hear Fynta breathing.  _Come on. We need to move._

 _"If you see an opening to escape, take it."_  Fynta's voice came across completely calm, unwavering in its determination.  _"Someone has to make it back to the Republic."_

Jorgan's heart stopped. Panic morphed into anger. "That's not an option, Major!" His rage only grew in Fynta's silence, anger at her for suggesting it, with Marr for dragging them out here, even with the Republic for not heeding their warnings. "We are  _not_  leaving you here!"

Fynta took a deep breath.  _"I'm giving you an order, Captain."_  Her tone hardened.  _"Move it."_

Elara put a hand on Jorgan's shoulder. He glanced up, and the medic nodded, eyes closed. Fynta had given him a direct order, in front of witnesses. Still, his hands were frozen on the controls. What was happening that kept her from getting to them? Had she been injured?

"We have an opening to jump, sir," Yuun clicked softly from the co-pilot's chair.

Jorgan all but held his breath, answering through surreal numbness. "Understood. We'll make sure reinforcements and medical crews are ready when you catch up . . . ." He wanted to say that he loved her, that she had better be right behind them, or at least still be here when he got back, but it all felt too final. "Good luck."

 _"You too,"_  Fynta replied. She knew how he felt. He would tell her in person soon.

Aric pushed the controls forward while Yuun activated the hyperdrive. They broke through the line of enemy ships to make their escape. Ice settled into Jorgan's veins as their conversation from years ago echoed in his mind.  _"Think we'll ever be left behind?"_  It was just after rescuing the Deadeyes, when Fynta explained the Baslan'shevla. He'd looked her in the eye and sworn that he'd never let that happen.

The stars stretched before Aric, and he was forced to face the fact that he'd just broken the only promise that mattered to his wife. He'd left her behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a: 
> 
> Ba'slan shev'la: - Strategic disappearance. Mandalorian Phrase.


	2. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something that I forgot to mention in the last chapter is that the title of this story comes from the song Angel With A Shotgun by The Cab. Also, translations and their context will be at the bottom as usual.

**Thunderclap**  
**Returning to Wild Space  
** **Twelve hours later**

While Cormac watched the radar and Elara scanned for life signs, Yuun monitored all active frequencies. Jorgan had been broadcasting an encrypted Havoc Squad signal, a complex pattern of beeps, for the past three hours. One of the blokes rescued from Marr's ship estimated that nearly three hundred escape pods had launched as a result of Fynta's command to evacuate. Several had been shot down by enemy drones, but most made it to neighboring planets.

Balic needed to stretch his legs. He'd spent the entire trip in the kolto tank with the intention of being useful when Havoc reached its destination. His head still pounded to the beat of a Kashyyyk war drum, but after a few more dips, he'd be good as new. It killed Balic whenever he thought about the fact that if he'd been a man and done it sooner, he could have been there with the major. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference, but at least she wouldn't be alone.

Though no longer subject to bouts of vertigo, Cormac's joints continued to ache in the aftermath of illness. He hobbled onto the bridge to check on Jorgan, and his heart broke a little more. The Cathar had been staring out the viewport since they arrived, scanning each body and every scrap of metal left from Darth Marr's ship. The captain had his datapad propped on one knee, bouncing so rapidly that Cormac wondered if he'd take off running if he stood up too fast. Balic couldn't imagine what Jorgan must be going through. He'd be a mess if Elara were missing.

Jorgan spared a glance over his shoulder, brow pulled into a permanent crease. "Nothing on the radar?" The Cathar's voice was deceptively calm, as if he'd shatter if even a hint of emotion slipped through.

Cormac shook his head. "Sorry, boss." Jorgan's mouth tightened into a straight line. "We'll find her," Balic promised with his most reassuring smile. "We're not giving up."

Jorgan took a deep breath and rose to his feet. He tapped the datapad against his palm a few times, still staring out the viewport. "I'm going to grab an hour of sleep," he announced finally, edging past Cormac towards the stairs.

"Sure thing. We'll come get you if anything turns up." Cormac doubted the captain would get any sleep; he just wanted to be alone. Balic listened for the door to shut and lock, then looked out at the darkness held back by a few layers of plexiglass. Cormac hated watching Jorgan collapse in on himself like this, knowing that he couldn't fix it.  _Fierfek, Fynta,_ he thought towards the unfeeling stars,  _you just had to be a hero._

**Taris  
Sinking City**

Verin splashed through the shallow swamp, scanner in hand. He hated this planet. It stank, the rakghouls were  _still_  a pain in the ass, and the Cathar community had become more volatile than ever. Verin had been nearly overwhelmed by a group of hunters when he hesitated to take a shot at one of them. The male had looked like Aric, at first, and Verin's mind hadn't registered the wrongness of the Havoc soldier being here until the rest were on him. By then, all Verin had been able to do was make for the speeder and get the hell out. He doubted they would have believed him if he'd tried to explain that he had a Cathar brother anyway.

Verin risked burning the old device out by setting it so high, but he thought it worth the risk. Taris had just entered winter, which consisted of freezing rain, sometimes radioactive. The ice  _tinked_  against his armor, and the hunter muttered curses in every available language. Cinlat would have found the blasted part by now and moved on to the next bounty. Hunting alone was a lot harder that Verin had imagined, and he wished this newfound respect for his wife's skill had come before her death.

HK-51, the droid that Cinlat had pieced together with her own hands long before Verin came into her life, had burned out a servo and ruined his chassis. Since his late wife had found the original in the wreckage of the Endar Spire, Verin figured it was as good a place to start as any. If the irksome droid had belonged to anyone else, he would have left it at their place on Tatooine to rust in the sun. It wasn't just because Verin hadn't been able to bring himself to return to their summer home, but also because Cinlat loved the stupid piece of scrap.

Verin tripped over a hidden object in the shallow water and landed with a splash. It wouldn't have been so bad had he not removed his helmet for a drink of gal. Frigid water sloshed into his face and poured over the top of his chestplate, soaking the thermal suit beneath. He considered staying on his knees; the thought of getting up, moving on in a life without his wife, seemed like so much effort most days. Still, he'd managed this far, and Cinlat would surely spurn him in the Manda if he gave up.

Pushing to his feet, Verin kicked the thing that had upended him. The solid sound of beskar striking metal grabbed his attention, and the bounty hunter knelt to find a sheet of bent alloy that could pass for HK's new chassis.

Verin scooped the piece up and decided to call it a day. The brief elation he felt at finding something useful evaporated into thoughts of returning to an empty ship. With a sigh, he started back to the speeder, pausing in the process of climbing onto the seat when his HUD lit up. The icon indicated the shared channel between himself and Fynta's crew.

Given that this particular link lacked privacy, Verin could only assume that whoever had activated it was searching for him. He had ignored Fynta's last two attempts, mostly because he wasn't ready to face his aliit yet. He listened though, and Fynta knew it, so she'd ramble on with updates to let him know that everyone was still alive and in search of the emperor. Not that Verin cared, he'd gotten his revenge by killing Revan; the rest of the galaxy could handle the mad Sith.

Unlike the times before, only the sound of breathing followed the comm's activation. Verin remained silent, expecting his sister to start chattering at any moment. Maybe this time he'd respond, just to let her know that he hadn't offed himself.  _"Fynta do you read?"_  It was Aric's voice on the comm, not Fynta's. Verin's blood ran colder than the rain pelting him. The Cathar sounded hoarse, dejected even.

Verin listened carefully for a response. None came.  _"Fynta, I know you're out there. Respond."_  Jorgan growled, and the world tipped wildly around Verin, threatening to spill him from the speeder. Not again, not so soon.  _"If you can hear me, we are coming. We_ will _find you."_

Verin activated his mic. "Aric, what's going on?" As if he needed an explanation. Something had gone terribly wrong, and Jorgan was scared.

The long pause that followed said more than when the Cathar finally answered.  _"We were separated. We're searching the wreckage of the ship she was on."_  He paused.  _"There were escape pods."_

The knot in Verin's throat threatened to strangle him. "Give me your coordinates. I'll help you search." Maybe Fynta's comms were being jammed, or she'd lost her link when the pod landed. Leave it to his little sister to be in one that crashed.

" _See you soon,"_  Aric responded. The icon light went out and another came on to inform Verin of incoming data. The hunter clambered back onto the speeder, swearing when he realized he'd forgotten to secure the alloy, and kicked into motion. He pushed the vehicle past its limits in his haste to reach the Mantis and left it smoking at the spaceport entrance.

It took twelve hours to reach the rendezvous, during which Verin beat HK's new parts into submission to clear his mind of the fear that tried to overwhelm him. Death had never shown an interest in his little sister before, and it  _wouldn't_  start now. Not before he'd had time to recover from losing Cinlat, not after she'd finally settled down with a decent man. Verin vowed to join Havoc on their search for the wayward commander, and he'd chew her out for being so di'kutla when they found her.

After what felt like an eternity, Verin stood at the airlock while he waited for the two ships to connect. He'd seen a lot of debris on his way to the Thunderclap, indicating the destruction of a massive ship. He wondered idly what Havoc Squad had been doing out in the middle of nowhere, and how they'd managed to get into a firefight where they were the last ones standing.

"It's good to see you, vod," Cormac greeted when the airlock swung open. The big man slapped Verin on the shoulder, and the hunter pulled a face at the pallid color of his skill. "I'm prettier now than I was yesterday," Cormac replied with forced mirth.

Balic ran an appraising eye over Verin, then motioned for him to follow. "New armor?"

Verin nodded. He had returned to Manda'yaim shortly after killing Revan and given his gear a makeover. He wondered if Fynta had gotten around to explaining why Mandalorians customized their armor, and what the colors meant. He'd settled for a drab, matte grey to signify mourning his wife. One day, maybe Verin would change it, seek out a new clan, and move on. For now, he needed space.

"It's in honor of Cin," Verin explained simply.

Tension entered Balic's shoulders, and he offered a quiet nod. "I say her name every day, though I still bugger up the words of the prayer." The big man cleared his throat, and Verin was relieved at the knowledge that preserving Cinlat's memory didn't rest squarely on his shoulders. He wanted to offer a few comforting words to the soldier, but they stuck in his throat, just as they had on Yavin. He didn't blame Cormac, he'd done everything he could. Verin simply wasn't ready to face it yet.

They had cleared the hallway when Cormac cupped his hands over his mouth. "Look who's here, Cap'." Balic gestured over his shoulder with his thumb as they entered the main room, stepping aside with dramatic flourish.

Jorgan took no notice, pacing from terminal to terminal. Yuun offered a polite nod as a greeting, and Elara slumped over the radar looking ready to pass out. Verin wondered how long it had been since any of them slept. Tanno Vik was the only one who spoke, folding his arms as he leaned back in a chair. "Seems we've lost the boss."

Even knowing what to expect, the words hit Verin hard. "How'd you lose her?" he asked, placing his helmet in one of the chairs in order to buy some time to remember how to breathe.

Elara spoke without looking up, though Verin understood the pitying look on Cormac's face all too well. "We were attacked. The major gave us orders to return to Republic space in order to warn them that we'd encountered a new threat." She cut off abruptly when Jorgan's fist slammed into the bulkhead next to the computer he leaned over. Everyone slowly melted away or became absorbed in their task.

Verin walked over to examine the dent the Cathar had left, then leaned against the wall. "What happened?" Aric glared at him, and Verin met him with an unyielding stare of his own. Finally, Jorgan closed his eyes, kneading them with his thumb and forefinger. His fight wasn't with Verin, but he understood the anger all too well.

Jorgan nodded towards the room to Verin's left. Inside, he found a large bed, a desk, lockers, and Fynta's helmet sitting on the side table. Aric shut the door quietly and massaged his knuckles while shaking his head. "I shouldn't have left her." His voice sounded muffled when he ran his hands over his face. Verin noted the broken skin on the Cathar's right hand; more damage than a single blow could have caused.

"Any idea who the attack came from?" Verin placed a hand on his sister's helmet, thinking of Cinlat's aboard the Mantis. He'd placed in a position of honor among the weapons.

"None," Aric answered with a sigh. "Fynta had just started her meeting with Marr. We know that he believed they'd found the emperor, but the attack began too soon for us to get any more details." Verin remembered hearing about Ziost, and knew that Fynta and Jorgan had been there. She'd spent a full fifteen minutes ranting about finding the hut'uun and ending him in ever more creative ways. Verin had been in a pub on Manda'yaim, but had found her language impressive.

The entire planet had been wiped out in under ten minutes, if the reports were to be believed. Millions dead. Verin drummed his fingers on the helmet before returning his attention to Aric. "They say Fynta provoked him."

Jorgan nodded, staring intently at his boots. "It was Lana's idea. She and Shan used Fynta as bait to draw the Emperor into the open so they could launch a massive electric strike to knock out all his pawns." He looked back at Verin, eyes narrowed and glowing. "It worked, for a little while. When he regained control, he wiped out every living thing. The planet is little more than ash now."

Verin wandered around the room, taking the chance to peek into his little sister's life. As expected, it was the picture of military tidiness, but there was evidence of Fynta everywhere. A clutter of datapads perched dangerously on the edge of the desk, likely reports that she'd put off in favor of doing something less productive. Grey cloth stuck out from under one of the locker doors, pinned and useless. Verin smiled at the subtle domestic feel of the room. This was Fynta's private life, the space she shared with her husband and let her guard down.

"So, you think this attack came from the Emperor?" Verin asked. When he looked up, Aric was watching him carefully.

"I don't know," the Cathar snarled, fists balling as if considering hitting something else. "The fleet was bigger than anything I've ever seen, and the ships' construction were completely foreign to us."

Aric took a steadying breath and relaxed his hands with visible effort. "Apparently, a few of the Sith planets have been attacked by something similar, but on a smaller scale. We've learned that this new force uses an army of droids called Skytroopers." He pressed a button on the desk, and a small holo of a ship appeared. It was tall and thin, with extrusions to each side. "There were thousands of them. They didn't have a hyperspace signature, just appeared without warning, and opened fire immediately."

"Did Fynta try to get back to the ship?" Verin knew the answer before Aric's scowl deepened. Guilt was written all over his face.

"Eventually," the Cathar answered at last, stepping closer to the table to lift Fynta's helmet in both hands. "You know how she is; had to help first. They were being boarded by war droids. The ship took a hit near us and jammed the docking clamps. We were venting atmosphere, so we couldn't board to help, but we couldn't break away either. She managed to get to the manual override to release us."

"But she couldn't get on," Verin guessed.

Aric nodded, staring at the faceplate. "The ships began to swarm, and Fynta told us to get back to the Republic to warn them. She gave me a direct order." His fingers tightened, voice shaking with anger as he pressed his forehead to the helmet and squeezed his eyes shut. "And, I followed it."

Verin gave the man time to work through his emotions, picking at a spot on his gauntlet to avoid looking in Aric's direction. It took only a few seconds for the Cathar to regain control. He sighed and lowered the helmet. "We got the message through, then got back as quickly as we could."

"So, all that debris I flew through was Marr's flagship?" Verin asked. Jorgan nodded again, setting the helmet back in its place with such tenderness that Verin had to look away. "Shab." Marr's ship was big and fast, and it would have been outfitted with the best of everything. Yet, it had been reduced to nothing.

"The Empire lost Marr too," Aric added. "The last transmission I received from Fynta was that she was meeting him in engineering." So, Jorgan knew that his wife and the Sith Lord were together, now both were missing. Verin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This situation would be more complex than a simple search and rescue.

"Dorne managed to reach one of the men who escaped," Aric continued. "He said that Fynta called for the evac from the engineering deck. He couldn't say if she made it to one of the pods, though." The Cathar unhooked his datapad from his belt and tapped it in the palm of his hand a few times before holding it out towards Verin. "Then, there's this."

The message on the screen was time-stamped as twenty hours ago:

_Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Ret'urcye mhi_

_Remember me, riduur._

Verin stared at the screen, letting his eyes drink in the words before looking back at Aric. "She didn't think she would make it out." He handed the datapad back: that message would become invaluable soon. He still read everything Cinlat had ever sent him; from mission reports to the rare personal letter, it was torture and life all at once.

"I haven't shown this to the squad yet." Aric rubbed his face again. "I can't give up looking without a body."

"Do you know what it says?" Verin never thought his sister capable of such flowery speech; it was a bad omen.

Aric read over the words, then cast a wary glance at Verin. "It means,  _I love you_ , right?"

"Close," Verin hooked his thumbs in his weapons belt. "The exact translation is a little trickier, but I'll give it a try. That says that you hold her heart forever, that you know her more than anyone ever could. It's as close as we Mando come to traditional romance."

Verin hadn't known it was possible to tell under all the fur, but he swore the color drained from Aric's face. As expected, the translation hit him with more force than a simple 'I love you' could have. The Cathar understood what that phrase meant to Fynta as a Mandalorian woman.

Crossing the last few steps between them, Verin put a hand on Aric's shoulder. "I'll do everything I can to help you find her, vod. I promise."

**Ilum  
** **Underground Catacombs**

Darth Kozen cursed under his breath when the comm fell silent. They'd chosen to split up to cover more ground: Jaesa taking the upper levels, while he traversed the lower. Three weeks of searching for a datacron that may or may not hold the answer to the Dark Council's questions seemed a poor use of the Emperor's Wrath. Quinn had been quick to point out that they existed to serve, not question. As punishment for his unwanted opinion, the Sith had set Malavai as lookout on the North Face, leaving the more sheltered positions to Vette and Pierce. Broonmark wandered over the surface, completely at home in the frigid weather.

Upon last contact, Vette had complained about the way the dry air affected her skin. Kozen had always found the Twi'lek's vanity amusing, given that he'd found her in a cage in the bowels of the Sith Academy on Korriban. Still, he promised to drop her off at a resort for her troubles.

Captain Quinn also found Kozen's relationship with Vette inappropriate, adding it to a long list of things he disapproved of. Kozen doubted that the stuffy man disliked the Twi'lek personally, she had a way of endearing herself to everyone, more that he felt Kozen's blatant fawning would be frowned upon if publicly expressed. Vette had proven herself to be loyal and indispensable. Her wants were simplistic, so the Sith found no reason to deny them. More importantly, she kept Jaesa's loyalty rooted to him.

By Kozen's estimation, he'd been out of comms contact for nearly twenty minutes. Long enough for Lieutenant Pierce to begin considering blowing holes in walls to make the search for their master more convenient. No doubt he and Quinn had devolved into a heated debate, leaving Broonmark to choose the winner. Given the Talz's proclivity for violence, there was little doubt whose side he'd choose.

As Kozen considered what awaited him on the surface, the dark unknown around him suddenly felt less stifling. Here, in the quiet, he wasn't required to watch over what accounted to a ship full of children his every waking hour, or for the inevitable blade that always sought to find his back. There were no threats from his own, just the silent peace that came with being truly cut off.

With a sigh, Kozen decided to mark his place in the catacomb and call it a night. His wrist chorno lit up the icy cavern, alerting him that the time was well past sunset, which put the rest of his team at risk on the surface. Down here, the ice insulated him, keeping the bite from the air. The comm crackled, echoing off the walls and bouncing Quinn's voice down the tunnel.

" _My lord, do you copy?"_

Kozen turned back the way he'd come and steeled himself for the return to civilization. "I read," he replied. "I am returning. We'll continue tomorrow."

Kozen allowed his people to spend the rest of the evening how they chose. Vette and Jaesa scampered off together, Quinn took his leave with a curt bow, and Pierce muttered about a beer and finding someone to warm his bed. Broonmark had opted to remain outside. The growling in Kozen's stomach was the only thing that diverted him away from his own quarters. The Sith opted for a quick stop by the local mess hall before retiring for the evening, perhaps one of the facilities less frequented by the rabble that huddled in the base.

As Kozen rounded the corner, a spark ignited in the Sith's mind so suddenly that he nearly stopped dead. His lip curled in disgust at the presence of the light side of the Force. He reached out carefully in an attempt to ascertain the Jedi's whereabouts. To his surprise, the mind he brushed welcomed him, and Kozen veered into a less inhabited hallway. The upper floors were too cold for permanent residence, but the computer monitors fared better. A few techs milled around in heavily insulated jackets, most carrying cups of caf and hunched beneath heavy hoods.

The Jedi was close, and Kozen ignited his lightsaber after ensuring that he was alone. He recognized the twisting emotions, felt them wash over him until he struggled to distinguish his own from those that belonged to his prey. A shadow moved, landing solidly from above and remaining just beyond the reach of his blade. The figure stood almost at height with the Sith Pureblood, and two purple blades sprang to life. She attacked without warning, and with a ferocity that forced Kozen two steps back. The tight confines of the space made for a difficult duel, but the Jedi wielded her sabers with practiced ease.

Kozen blocked each strike, but couldn't land his own. Blades locked as they pressed against one another, bringing their faces close enough to whisper. "It's good to see you again, Master Vaa."

Kaeto gave a throaty laugh and shoved them apart. Her attacks were relentless. Where less experienced knights might have worn themselves out with such heavy blows, the Togruta only grew stronger. Kozen pulled on the darkness within, feeling heat burn through his body as it flooded his system with strength. When Kaeto spun to snap her blade around, the Sith extended his hand, fingers pinpointing his target, and released the gathered energy directly into her chest.

The Jedi toppled backward, hitting the opposite wall with teeth-jarring speed. Kozen advanced, the red glow of his lightsaber making her skin shimmer like liquid gold. They glared at one another for nearly half a minute before he deactivated his weapon and offered her a hand. "I believe this round belongs to me."

Kaeto brushed her robes clean and huffed in reply. "I suppose I'm bound to lose one every once in a while."

"It only takes one." Kozen examined her attire, the black robes that made her appear unnaturally Sith-like. Even her eyes looked red, though he knew it to be a sham. He could  _feel_ the purity that, while tainted, still coursed through her.

Kaeto paused her inspection of her clothing and offered a hurt expression. "Are you saying that you plan to kill me, Lord Wrath?" She held herself with an air of defiance colored by hopefulness, and it made Kozen's blood burn in his veins.

"Not until I've grown bored of you." The Togruta chuckled, a deep sound that only fueled Kozen's desire more. "Why are you on Ilum?"

Kaeto put a finger to her lips, then closed the gap between them. "I believe you won our little duel, Sith. That means you get to set the parameters." It was a game they played, though he didn't fully remember when it started. Each time fate found them together, they fought. Neither ever struck the killing blow, but they didn't walk away unscathed either. The loser became the other's slave for the evening.

The Sith smiled at his Jedi lover. "You are trying to distract me." He felt her push at his mind, and closed it off too late. Emotions that Kozen knew weren't his nudged his body into reaction in ways that he didn't completely object to.

Kaeto's laughter echoed through the empty corridor when he pinned her against the wall. "My dear Kozen, you know the rules. Mission details are not a part of the game."

Kozen nosed along Kaeto's neck, allowing himself to be drawn deeper into her seductive mind games. "You are like no other Jedi I've met." Only Sith played with fire even after their palms had been charred, but Kaeto seemed unable to resist the pull. She flirted with the Dark Side as if it were something she could tame so long as she stayed beyond the reach of its jaws. Kozen knew that eventually, she would veer too close, and it would destroy her.

"No," Kaeto breathed in Kozen's ear. "I expect not." He heard the familiar tone of weariness creep in, felt her retreating from his mind.

"I've decided," Kozen announced, refusing to sever their connection. Kaeto shifted to look him in the eyes, and he pressed the memory of their time together on Nar Shaddaa against her consciousness. A sly grin spread her lips wide enough to glimpse the sharped teeth beneath. "But first," Kozen tipped Kaeto's chin towards his own. "You must remove the contacts. They do not suit you."

Kaeto's response was lost in a myriad of sensations that struck Kozen all at once. At first, he assumed it was Kaeto attempting to confuse his system until he realized that it was far too frigid to be connected to the Jedi. This-emptiness-crawled up Kozen's spine like a wounded animal, leaving a trail of searing cold in its wake. By the time it reached his chest, Kozen understood what it was. Death, not just the act, but the absolute absence of someone important. Someone he hadn't realized he shared a connection with. The name lingered in the back of his mind, refusing to make itself known, as if staying hidden would preserve it a little longer.

"Kozen?"

Kaeto no longer bore the smug expression from seconds earlier. She must sense it too, if not through the Force, then through him. Kozen pushed himself away from the Togruta, closing his eyes to drag the name into being. He had to be sure. The chill exploded outward, leaving a void in the Force. Kozen had his confirmation. Darth Marr was dead.

**Dromund Kaas  
** **Imperial Intelligence**

"Vector?" Zolah asked as she knelt beside Lana. The Joiner crouched next to Solish, supporting her weight while being careful of his hand placement. He shook his head, easing the Cathar to the floor.

Moments ago they'd been discussing the aftershocks of the destruction of Darth Marr's flagship. Darth Nox had invited herself, her nose for gossip almost as legendary as the madness of that solidified her reputation. Zolah had just looked up to study to Cathar, noting Vector's discomfort as Solish read over his elbow, when both Sith went rigid.

Lana sucked in a breath, her eyes wide with what could only be translated as fear. Before Zolah had time to react, Lana's legs buckled, and she collapsed next to her desk. Vector's muttered curse, such a rare sound, showed him to be in a similar position with Solish. "What happened?"

"We are unsure," Vector replied. He sounded baffled, leaning back on his heels to meet Zolah's gaze.

Lana stirred, groaning as she rolled onto her side. "Cipher, help me up."

Zolah grabbed the other woman's hand and had just pulled her upright when Solish hissed. Vector stumbled backward to avoid the Cathar's claws as she launched to her feet. Golden eyes backlit by mania darted around the room until they finally settled on Lana. "Did you feel it?" Her voice grated as if she hadn't had a sip of water in weeks, forcing the hairs on the back of Zolah's neck to stand on end.

Lana nodded, politely shaking free from Zolah's support. "I did. I've never experienced anything like it."

Zolah waited patiently, watching Vector crawl back to his feet from the corner of her eye. "What was it?" Normally, she wouldn't push a Sith for information, but she felt the weight of what had just happened even without access to the Force.

Lana's eyes still looked dull from shock when she straightened her tunic. "The Emperor is dead."

Silence followed the statement. No one dared to speak, let alone breath. Lana had said it in such a cavalier fashion that Zolah wondered if the woman fully understood the ramifications of her pronouncement. Zolah's mind raced in a dozen directions, contemplating all the ways this would change the Empire. Though he may have been absent over the years, the Emperor's death would be felt across the galaxy, leaving a void in their delicate hierarchy. Whoever claimed the throne would likely want to reorganize the government again, meaning that Intelligence was looking at another overhaul.

These thoughts must have been evident in Zolah's expression, because when she looked to Lana again, the Sith merely nodded. "We will need allies."

Theron's name whispered at the back of Zolah's mind. He was trustworthy and would surely be interested in a threat strong enough to destroy a spirit who could eat planets. Zolah nodded, motioning for Vector to follow as she headed for the door. She'd need an encrypted line and room to dig. Upon her last report, Theron had been put on administrative leave and buried in paperwork somewhere in the Core World system. She didn't break stride until the Blade's airlock sealed behind her. As soon as Zolah was sure that they were safe from prying ears, she turned to her husband. "Vector, do you still have access to that burner?" The Joiner nodded towards the hidden safe in their room.

"Good," Zolah continued, motioning for him to retrieve it even as she headed for the bridge. "We've got our work cut out for us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a:
> 
> gal [gahl] booze
> 
> manda [MAHN-dah] the collective soul or heaven
> 
> aliit [ah-LEET] family
> 
> di'kutla [dee-KOOT-lah] stupid
> 
> vod [vohd] comrade or brother
> 
> Manda'yaim [MAN-dah-YAI-eem] the planet Mandalore
> 
> hut'uun [hoo-TOON] coward
> 
> Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Ret'urcye mhi: Based on my research, these words were never mean to be translated literally. They were a sentiment meant to show their trust in a partner. This was the ultimate commitment for a Mandalorian.
> 
> riduur [REE-door] husband


	3. Year One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The galaxy spends its first year under a threat they weren't prepared for.

**Coruscant  
** **One Month Later**

There were few things worse than administrative leave, and not being able to sleep during said forced vacation topped that list. Theron stalked into the bathroom and glared at his reflection in the dim light from his implants. Despite having them recalibrated and repaired, the blasted things had itched like mad ever since he'd fried them on Ziost. Then, there was the decimated Sixth Line that haunted his dreams: Master Surro's face contorted in anger, her body broken at his feet. More than a year later, most of those ill-fated Jedi had been reformed and reassigned to light duty. At least they were getting on with life, not sitting stagnant, waiting to be summoned like a dog.

Theron placed his palms flat against the sink and hung his head. He still had the holo frequency that Vector provided, but had kept it switched off in an effort to avoid temptation. Zolah still plagued him in the dark hours, though his memories from Yavin had started to haze. It was probably for the best. As much as he tried to deny it, Theron missed those Imperial bastards. He'd managed honest conversations with both, something he couldn't bring himself to do with most of his SIS co-workers.

Just as Theron decided to grab his jacket and head out to find something to distract himself with, his comm implant chimed. It was far too late for a casual call from Jace. He paused in the middle of his sitting room and ran a quick diagnostic. "Encrypted, interesting."

" _I can be."_

The voice was warm and friendly, and Theron could almost see the smile curling at the edges of the woman's blue lips. "Cipher Nine," he responded, keeping his tone controlled to hide the thrill that rushed through him. Theron steered away from using her name over his personal comm, though he'd repeated it to himself more than once in far more compromising positions.

" _Agent Shan, it's good to hear your voice again. Are you well?"_  Zolah sounded relieved, and Theron wondered if perhaps she'd gotten over the fear that he would misuse the trust that she'd shown him, even if it had been unintentional.

Theron dropped his jacket over the back of a chair and put his hands on his hips. "Depends. Is this a social call, or business?"

The Chiss agent chuckled softly.  _"Are those things mutually exclusive in our line of work?"_  When Theron didn't reply, she continued.  _"Alright, then. It's both. I have missed you, Theron. My life became a lot more interesting meeting you."_  He heard a muffled voice in the background.  _"Vector says hello."_

"Uh, hi." Theron mentally kicked himself and pressed both palms into his eyes to hide from how lame that response sounded. He cleared his throat and made an attempt to recover the conversation. "How can I help you?"

" _I'm assuming by now that you've heard the news?"_  Zolah responded, all playfulness leaching from her tone.

"About Darth Marr's ship? Yeah, not sure what it has to do with me. Unless it really was the Emperor, in which case, I'd love a second shot at him." Rather than standing in the middle of the room talking to himself, Theron went to the kitchen to fix a drink. When Zolah remained silent, he paused. "Are you saying the rumors are true?"

Zolah sighed audibly. _"You really don't know, do you?"_  Theron put the bottle of rum down slowly and lifted the tumbler to his lips. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to like what came next. _"I suppose the Republic doesn't want to admit that they had an agent at a covert meeting with a Dark Council member. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but Fynta Wolfe was aboard Darth Marr's ship."_

Theron barely registered the sound of glass shattering against the tile. He sagged forward, catching himself on the counter. "Any survivors?" His heart hammered in his ears, and Fynta's face flashed into perfect clarity before his eyes.

" _Plenty, but none who know what happened to the major."_  Zolah paused again.  _"Darth Marr is dead, as is the emperor. But, Lana remains optimistic that Major Wolfe could still be alive. Do you understand what I'm saying, Theron?"_

"I think so." The SIS agent straightened and looked around his apartment. It was sparsely decorated, nothing personal that he'd miss if he went off the reservation. He was already on administrative leave from the SIS, so they certainly wouldn't notice; not for a while, at least. If Fynta was out there, he had to find her, because she'd do it for him. Kriff, he needed to contact Jorgan too.

Zolah waited patiently while Theron came to his decision. "I'm in, send me coordinates."

Theron disconnected and had already begun dialing Major Jorgan when the encrypted file came through to his datapad. He glanced at the coordinates while waiting for the Cathar to answer, mentally calculating how far into Wild Space it took him.

" _Jorgan."_

Theron had devoted so much time to the math, that Jorgan's quick pick up caught him by surprise. "Hey, Captain. Got a minute?" The Cathar glared through the holo. His cheeks looked sharper than Theron remembered, eyes harder, and scowl deeper. Theron expected the man to look like hell, but he hadn't been prepared for the drastic drop in weight.

Jorgan looked over his shoulder, motioned at someone off screen, then back to Theron.  _"What do you need, Shan?"_  His voice sounded flat, not even the standard growl that he'd boasted back on Ziost.

"I just heard. Kriff, I'm sorry. If you need anything—"

" _It's fine,_ " Jorgan interrupted, his jaw tightening. " _We'll find her_."

Theron didn't know why he expected comradery from the Cathar, not after he'd insulted Fynta on Rishi. He'd hoped the icy atmosphere on Ziost had been due to their mission, but Theron realized that Jorgan simply didn't like him. "I'd like to help," he responded anyway. He had access to resources that Jorgan couldn't dream of. The Cathar would be stupid to turn him away.

Jorgan let out a slow breath, loud enough to echo over the comm.  _"Thanks, Shan. I've got to go."_

"Yeah, I'll be in touch. This comm secured?" Jorgan nodded, but Theron thought he saw a little life enter the Cathar's eyes again. "Great, see you soon."

**Ord Canfre**

It was the little things that got to Jorgan when he let his guard down, like the fact that the only image he had of his wife, he'd cropped from her personnel file. They'd never gotten around to creating a personal photo together. There was always the next mission to prepare for, and it had honestly seemed like a silly idea. Now, he wished they hadn't been so stubborn. He'd managed to find one photo in the holonews that contained both of them. It was a long-distance shot that looked like they were in a briefing.

Fynta still waited in Jorgan's dreams whenever he collapsed from exhaustion. He met her in a cold, dark void, and she always stared down at him. Aric could never move, only watch. Most nights, he preferred to settle in the conference room with a cup of caf and a broken down rifle to stave off sleep. Eventually, he'd pass out, but the dreams always came. He considered stims in those desperate hours, but knew that they would lead him down a darker path.

"My barrel is overheating again." Cormac squatted next to Jorgan, the tip of his gun glowing red.

Jorgan sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. He was on the verge of collapse again. "Any news from the ship?"

"Kind of, Yuun estimated five minutes, give or take," the big man answered, peeking over the rise, before ducking down again.

"Yuun doesn't estimate," Jorgan replied when he realized that Cormac's faceplate angled everywhere but in his direction. Balic couldn't make eye contact when he lied, not even through a helmet. It was the sole reason that he refused to play Sabacc with Fynta. The memory tore at the ache in Aric's chest, never gone, but sometimes less noticeable.

Cormac shrugged. "That was six minutes ago. He used the word  _Gand_  a lot."

They'd been on the planet for two weeks for what was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Yuun dropped pairs of Havoc soldiers in various locations to gather intel on the now identified Zakuulan Empire. It was all hands on deck, even desk jockeys had been sent to the front lines in some systems, as Jedi poured from Tython like a broken dam.

Rumor had it that the Zakuulans were sweeping towards the Core Worlds as revenge for their assassinated Emperor. Cormac insisted that their anger proved that Fynta was alive, and Jorgan wanted to believe him. It certainly seemed like something she would do. But, the murder of a high-value target with no contact afterward probably meant capture and the death penalty. Call him a masochist, but Jorgan kept an eye on the headlines, waiting for the day when he saw his wife's broken body flaunted before the masses.

"Fierfek, more Skytroopers inbound," Cormac reported, relaying information from the fleet frequency while Jorgan took a break from the constant chatter. The familiar curse burned through his chest, and the Cathar closed his eyes against the pain.

Jorgan turned his eyes towards the sky in an effort to regain his composure. Even in the middle of the day, he could see the battle raging in space, the cause of their delayed evac. The Thunderclap had been called to help thin out enemy ships, leaving Balic and Aric to fend off ground forces without backup.

The inevitable couldn't be put off any longer. Jorgan sighed and pushed onto his knees.  _Might as well get a look at what's coming._  He flipped onto his stomach and peeked over the ridge. The dropship had just crested the horizon, and still no sign of the Thunderclap. "How are we on ammo?"

"Would you like a reassuring lie or the truth, sir?" Cormac asked.

"I think that answers my question." Jorgan spun back around and slid to the bottom of their trench. If he was going to die here, he might as well finish that letter to Fynta.

Aric had never been great with words, but she'd understand. He only had two emotions to pull from: anger and hopelessness. At least anger got the job done. Hunkering lower, Jorgan grabbed his stylus and started writing. He hated himself for giving into High Command. The threat of a psych discharge shouldn't have cowed him so easily. Jorgan had considered going off the books, but each time he talked himself out of it. What troubled him most of all, was knowing that Fynta wouldn't have hesitated.

Jorgan pushed all of the bitterness down and opened his messages. After scrolling through a few single lined letters, he decided to start fresh. The wording was all wrong, harsh and crude, but also raw. Was that what he'd been reduced to, a wounded animal striking out at the one person he wanted the most?

_Subject: They just keep coming_

_I'm stuck in a trench with Cormac and running low on ammo. Skytrooper dropships are inbound, probably two minutes out. Feels like the longest break I've had in weeks._

_We've been fighting these things for two months now. We hunker down and shoot until our barrels melt, and more of them just keep showing up. Getting real tired of it. Might not be so bad if I just had my wife here with me like I'm used to._

_I know you're still out there. No way you're dead._

_Two months is long enough. Please come back to us._

The Cathar had just put a period on the last line when Cormac's cannon boomed. "Contact," the man called from above. Jorgan couldn't bring himself to write that he loved her, or say goodbye. There was no logical explanation for it, only that it didn't feel like the right time. Fynta  _knew_ , that was what mattered. Aric hit send and reattached his datapad to his belt. It was time to get back to work. Hopefully, the Thunderclap would arrive soon.

**The Red Blade  
Orbit Around Ryloth**

"This is a bad idea, Theron." Zolah followed the former SIS agent through the ship while he shoved items in his duffle. The word  _former_  rattled around in her mind, making her skin tingle. Perhaps, she and Vector could lure Theron to the Empire after all. He'd joined them on the Blade willingly, and Zolah knew that it wasn't completely due to the search for his old friend. Theron had grown disenchanted with the Republic.

Vector caught Zolah's eye as she trailed after Theron, offering a curious eyebrow raise. Had he seen the hope in her aura? "It's something that I need to do," Theron answered, seemingly oblivious to the silent conversation transpiring between his companions. "I owe Jorgan that much."

"Why?" Zolah asked. As far as she knew, the only thing that Jorgan had ever done for Theron was to neglect turning him over to the authorities after Ziost. That, and knock him flat on his ass after hours of torture.

Theron accepted a shirt from Vector, already folded, with a nod before turning back to Zolah. "It's hard to explain. Fynta was a wreck when we worked together, not that I was any better. Jorgan – fixed something in her." He puffed out a breath and shook his head as if the argument made no more sense to him than anyone else. "Fynta and I had a complicated relationship, but she was a friend, I think. Anyway, Jorgan is the new commander of Havoc Squad, and they might come in handy. So, I'm going."

Zolah opened her mouth to argue, but Vector cleared his throat. "We agree with Theron, beloved. Captain Jorgan would prove a valuable ally in the future, and Fynta is his wife."

"See," Theron waved a hand at the Joiner. "The  _Voice of Reason_  hath spoken. Can't argue with that. Now, where are my boots?"

"My room," Zolah sighed.

Theron made a noise of recognition and scampered off in that direction. With only the three of them aboard the Blade, there was more than enough space to spread out. They each had their own room, taking turns sharing one another's bed, or sleeping alone if desired. Last night, Theron had stayed with Zolah, though he'd spent the bulk of the evening playing Dejarik in Vector's room. Theron had smelled heavily of wine and defeat when he finally stumbled in, and Zolah saw no reason to turn him away.

Zolah eyed her husband, crossing her arms. "Why are you really encouraging this?"

Vector offered a sad smile. "We couldn't sleep last night, our mind was alive with the sadness that Captain Jorgan must feel." Zolah had accepted long ago that Vector's Joiner physiology meant that he required less sleep than her, and it was the main reason why he kept a separate room. Years of being a Cipher agent had made her a terribly light sleeper. When she'd first learned that he wandered the ship to avoid waking her, she'd immediately created permanent quarters for him.

"Jorgan is a soldier. He understood the risk better than most." The words sounded callous even as Zolah said them, but it didn't make the statement any less true. Whoever survived, would do so alone in their line of work.

Vector nodded as if truly considering Zolah's side of the argument. "He is also Cathar." Nothing more needed to be said. Vector's heart broke for a man he barely knew, simply because he was doomed to live alone for the rest of his life. Were something to happen to her, Vector would still have the hive. Similarly, she could find solace in Theron, but for Jorgan, there would never be another comfort. No wife, no children, no lovers.

"I understand," Zolah admitted as Theron's boots echoed behind her.

"What did I miss?" Theron was in the middle of straightening the collar of the gaudy, red jacket that he loved so much. He offered a lopsided smile. "Were you two talking about me?"

Zolah aimed to ruffle Theron's hair, but the man caught her wrist and pulled her closer for a kiss. "Not this time," he whispered, slipping something into her back pocket. "Vector, I trust that you'll keep an eye on our crafty Cipher agent?" Theron's eyes never left hers; a clear challenge.

"We shall try," Vector answered with a smirk. He waited until the airlock shut, then reached into Zolah's pocket to retrieve the small listening device that she'd planted on Theron earlier. Holding it out to Zolah, his amusement grew into a full smile. "It was a valiant effort, love."

Zolah snatched the bug with a huff. She wasn't used to her targets being as clever as herself. "I'll just have to be more creative next time."

**Ryloth  
** **Bent Lekku Cantina**

Jorgan sat in the cantina, nursing the local brew while doing his best not to think about how the galaxy had gone to hell in such a short amount of time. The squad that Fynta had held together for years had fallen apart in less than six months under his command. The SIS had staked a claim on Yuun, and the Gand slipped his leash at the first opportunity. The last time that Jorgan had heard anything about him, it involved angry SIS Keepers banging on his door, demanding to know the Gand's whereabouts. Jorgan kindly told them where to shove their inquiry, and hoped Yuun found whatever he was looking for.

Naturally, after a cursory stint to ensure Fynta wouldn't return just to beat his ass for abandoning his squad, Vik had bailed at the last place they stopped to refuel. He said the major wasn't coming back, and this new, chaotic galaxy was ripe with opportunity. The Weequay claimed that ghosts couldn't hurt anyone; Jorgan adamantly disagreed.

The Cathar sighed and watched the liquid in his glass swirl. He was an idiot for accepting Theron's communique, but he couldn't stop himself. Jorgan was desperate for news about his wife, even if it was confirmation of death. Anything had to be better than this endless limbo. Ten months of nothing had begun to hollow him out.

"Thanks for agreeing to meet." Theron Shan slid into the barstool next to Jorgan and raised his finger for a glass of whatever the Cathar had. Honestly, Aric hadn't touched it.

"I don't have long before the Republic realizes that we aren't where we are supposed to be, Shan," Jorgan grumbled, finally lifting the beer to his lips. It wasn't bad, a bit thinner than he liked, but not awful.

Theron slid a datachip across the bar. "Thought you might like this. I found it while digging through Fynta's old file." Jorgan palmed the small device and plugged it into his datapad while Theron continued. He should wait until he was back in the privacy of his own room, but desperation sped his actions.

"I just wanted you to know that we're still looking," Shan continued, keeping his eyes straight to give Jorgan some privacy. "Lana is confident that Fynta is alive; we just have to find her. I'll contact you as soon as we have something."

_I should be helping_ , Jorgan growled inwardly. By this point, going AWOL was his only option. "Any leads?"

Theron sighed, and Jorgan finally turned towards him. The man looked exhausted, rubbing at his implants like they irritated him. A little of Jorgan's malice softened. Theron could have set out to find Fynta without him, held a grudge for the rocky past they shared, but he didn't. "Zolah and I are running 'round the clock shifts sifting through data. There's a lot of it, the whole damn planet is nearly automated." Jorgan didn't have to ask which planet. They were looking for Fynta on Zakuul, the one area the Republic couldn't go.

Light flashed, and Jorgan glanced at his datapad to find an image of a much younger Fynta. It took him a moment to realize why she looked so different. "How old is this?" There was no tattoo, just smooth, tanned skin around her right eye. Jorgan absently ran his fingers over the picture. So, this is what she looked like before.

Theron squinted at it. "That's right before the Orvax IV op. A kriffing cock-up of a mission if you ask me." The drink arrived, and Theron drained half the cup in one swig.

"You were involved in that one?" Jorgan couldn't take his eyes off Fynta's photo. She was smiling, so despite the lack of recognizable markings and how young she looked, this image embodied his wife a lot more than the stoic picture from her official dossier.

"Unfortunately," Theron answered. "I thought you'd read her file?"

Jorgan shook his head. "She used code names in a lot of her reports, and they changed regularly. I skimmed over it once, then destroyed the file. I knew who my wife was.  _Is_ ," he corrected.

Theron lifted the mug to his lips, but stopped short and sighed. "Yeah, I was team lead on that one. I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you that Fynta volunteered for it. She made it through Orvax IV and ended up on Ilum at the underground mance of Moff Trenton." Recognition tickled at the back of Jorgan's mind. He'd heard that name before.

Jorgan finally tore his eyes from the picture to stare at Theron, who finally took to sipping at his beer again. "Her mission report was pretty vague, but somehow the Moff made her, Republic snipers were sent in, and she got lost in the chaos that followed. It was a huge mess."

Theron rubbed the back of his neck, pulling a face and setting the mug down as if he'd suddenly lost interest in his drink. "That mission left her with the iconic tattoo, plus those nasty scars down her back. She wouldn't tell me what happened, exactly. Just enough to put into a report."

"It was a whip," Jorgan answered without conscious thought. "That's what left the scars." The room spun around him as images flooded back. The woman chained to a post as a young Sith Pureblood lashed her brutally, and a single dark blue eye visible through a veil of blond hair.

"Yeah, that much I'd gotten out of her. Guess she told you," Theron remarked, completely oblivious to Jorgan's rising heart rate.

"No," Jorgan managed. He'd run his hand over those scars every night as they fell asleep; each time they made love. They'd become as familiar to him as the tattoo, but he'd never suspected...

Theron turned in his seat, meeting Jorgan's eyes. Whatever he saw there caused the man's eyebrows to shoot up. "Shit," he breathed, staring back at his drink. "You were the sniper. Small galaxy." They sat in silence for a few moments before Theron asked, "Does Fynta know?"

Jorgan shook his head. "I didn't realize – I never saw her face, and she wasn't speaking Mando'a." He was sure he'd have figured it out sooner if the curses she'd shouted had been in her native tongue rather than in the local dialect.

Theron snorted a humorless laugh. "She's going to get a kick out of this when we find her."

Jorgan drained his beer and pocketed the datachip. "Are there more on here?" Theron nodded, assuring him that was everything he could find. "I've got to get back to the ship. Thanks, Shan. I owe you." It was one more connection to his wife that he hadn't possessed before.

**Iseno sector  
Denon**

" _You have your orders,"_  the holo of a helmeted Knight growled at Koth. This attack didn't feel right. Other than a couple pockets of resistance, the planet below had shown no indication of superior military technology. This bombardment was overkill.

Koth leaned on the console, hand poised over the intercom to give the order to light the city block up. All across the surface, similar attacks had already commenced, yet Koth hesitated. He pulled at the collar of his uniform, felt it choking him for considering taking the lives of so many innocent, unarmed civilians.

The vessel Koth commanded was crewed by only half a dozen men and women who all looked at their captain from the corners of their eyes. Only Lem had the courage to approach him outright. "Captain, what's your command?"

Maybe it was Koth's imagination, but he swore there was an accusatory edge to the big man's voice. Koth swallowed and closed his eyes, picturing the men, women, and children below his ship. He knew what kind of damage the cannons attached to his vessel would do. They would burn in an instant, nothing left behind to bury except indistinguishable ash mixed in with the rubble of the building that they huddled in.

Koth smacked the console as he pushed away to address his crew. "What I'm about to say is treason. So, if you've got a problem with that, hit the escape pod now." He waited a solid thirty seconds before continuing. "I signed up to protect Zakuul from our enemies, to keep our people  _safe_. Then, the Outlander came and murdered our emperor." The pain of that day still twisted in his chest. "I set out to destroy the new enemy, just like all of you."

Koth jammed a finger at the viewscreen. "Those people did not kill Valkorion. They don't deserve to be wiped out for the crimes of one woman who's already been punished." Dropping his arms to his side as if they suddenly weighed too much for him to lift, Koth sighed. "I'm not murdering for Arcann anymore."

Silence followed the captain's declaration, and he waited for someone to detain him. When it didn't happen, Koth met his crew's eyes. They nodded in turn, and he knew what had to be done next. "Alright people, let's do this." Resting a hand on the controls, Koth turned the ship away from the battle. "Congratulations, everyone. We're all traitors now." He punched the hyperspace command in, and never looked back.

**Denon  
Imperial Stronghold**

The ritual of preparing for death was as familiar as breathing to Darth Kozen. He welcomed the surreal feeling that all would soon be at peace as the canons above them hummed to life. The phenomenon came as silence in the middle of chaos, and everything narrowed to a singular focus. It had been a surprise to find that his experience was not unique when Kaeto too began calming her mind.

They'd arrived on Denon for wholly different purposes, yet the Force had once again brought him together with the Jedi Master who was destined to become his opposite in every way. Kozen had come here to hold the line, while Kaeto saw only the chance to aid refugees. Slowly, the onslaught of Skytroopers had herded them into ever smaller spaces, finally pushing Republic and Empire together once more.

The explosions of buildings could be heard from all sides, flashing brilliantly in the diminishing light from the setting sun. The screams of thousands set every nerve in Kozen's body on edge. He couldn't hear them over the rapid cannon fire, but he  _felt_  them.

Kaeto grasped Kozen's hand in a painful grip, the overload of death casting her mind back to Ziost. The fear and pain that she felt should have been crippling, yet she stood resolutely against the approaching threat. Kozen opened his mind a little further, offering to take some of her burden without understanding why. The pressure stole his breath, and Kaeto squeezed tighter around his fingers to anchor them both.

In the same way, Kaeto let Kozen in, and he glimpsed the section of her mind where he was not permitted to go. Only the increased pressure on his hand kept the Sith from knocking on the door she'd kept locked to him. It rankled, knowing that he'd go to his grave without laying bare all that the Jedi held secret.

Still, the ship above them did not fire, and Kozen began to wonder what sort of sadist this commander was. Without warning, it turned and fled the atmosphere. The small crowd of resistors and soldiers who had gathered around the unlikely allies stared up at the sky, still frozen, waiting for the infernal Zakuulans to return and kill them after all. Kozen was no exception.

" _Does anyone read?"_

Kaeto pulled her hand from Kozen's to answer her comm. "I hear you, Rusk." Kozen blinked at her, lavender eyes finding his a little too easily for comfort.

" _Darth Nox has taken the command camp. You should come quickly."_

"We'll be there at once." Kaeto turned to commandeer a speeder while Kozen began relaying orders to the remaining soldiers. Fighting still rang throughout the city planet, though. Just because one ship had fled did not mean the others would.

Kozen drove while Kaeto held his shoulders. Solish had led the charge on the main camp, taking most of the troops with her. It took nearly thirty minutes to reach their destination, but the evidence of lightning damage gave testimony to a fierce battle. Kaeto climbed nimbly from the speeder, and Kozen followed her through the broken compound.

The Chagrian soldier, an original member of Kaeto's crew who had never hidden his opinion on her poor choice of companions, approached at a brisk walk. "What have you found?" She asked without hesitation.

Rusk spared a glance at Kozen before answering. "An intercepted message from Theron Shan." Kozen knew the name from Yavin, the SIS agent who'd helped destroy Revan. "It's not a lot, but he asked for you by name."

Kaeto tilted her head in interest, and Rusk continued. "There was also one from Lana Beniko asking for this one," the Chagrian grunted with a nod toward Kozen.

"Thank you." Rusk fell in step, keeping a careful eye on Kozen. The Sith found the Chagrian's protectiveness of Kaeto amusing, at best, and annoying more often. He'd considered snapping the man's neck more than once, though doubted Kaeto would appreciate the gesture. She claimed the man as a friend, effectively protecting the insulant alien for the time being.

They found Solish standing over the broken holotable, staring at the images of Theron and Lana side by side. "So, you've heard the news, I take it?" She didn't take her eyes from the holos. "I can't decide which I appreciate more," the Cathar mused idly, tilting her head to the side with a feral grin.

Kozen cleared his throat. "We were told there were messages."

"Indeed. They requested us by name; Theron also mentioned the Barsen'thor." Solish leaned around to look at Kaeto, "I don't suppose you know her whereabouts?" Kaeto shook her head. "Pity, I should like to meet that one."

Kozen rolled his eyes, and Kaeto's lips quirked. Why did she find the little Cathar so amusing, when everyone else saw only insanity? Perhaps, it had something to do with their shared penchant for possession, though Kozen would never suggest such a thing out loud. A truth he found intriguing. Why did he care whether his words wounded a Jedi?

"They gave coordinates; of course, it was heavily encrypted. Luckily, I have a genius aboard my ship." Solish smiled adoringly at the small man hunched over a terminal. He glanced up, flashed a bright grin, and then bent back to his work. "Lana and Theron have begun to build an Alliance to bring down Zakuul. They are amassing both Imperial and Republic support."

Kozen's interest piqued at the same time that he felt a thrill roll off Kaeto. They glanced at one another in alarm, then shared a silent nod: confirmation of their next stop along the way. Solish leaned against the table that separated them, propping her elbows on its flickering surface. "I've grown rather bored with the Dark Council lately. I think I'll visit Lana's new project and see if it's more interesting. I assume I'll have the pleasure of your company?"

"Indeed," Kozen answered. "I'll take my own ship, though. Yours is a bit . . . crowded." Solish had kept all of her pets, including a rather ornery Dashade that she'd pried from the bowels of Korriban, and a mouthy pirate that Kozen had no patience for. Though, Kaeto had bonded with the female Togruta; it was strange that their species turned up so often aboard Sith ships.

The Cathar flashed white fangs as she laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is. Will you steal away this delightful creature again?" Golden eyes slid over Kaeto as she spoke, a hunger that Kozen didn't trust burning in them.

"I'll leave my people here to provide aid to the populace, which will require them to keep my ship." Kaeto faced Kozen with a polite smile. "If you have the space, Darth Kozen, I'd like to accompany you to these coordinates."

Kozen couldn't stop the intrigued twitch in his eyebrows. "Naturally," he offered, avoiding Solish's knowing smirk.

"I'll make the preparations at once," Kaeto commented, already walking towards the exit, "And meet you at your ship as soon as my people are squared away."

The Chagrian chased after his master, objections beginning as soon as they were on the other side of the archway. Kaeto had just put a comforting hand on his shoulder when they turned the corner. While Kozen watched, Solish slithered to his side. "She really is an exquisite creature," the Cathar purred. "Should you ever tire of her, feel free to send her my way." With a wink, Solish collected her archaeologist, and the two departed for her ship. Kozen smiled after her, savoring the idea that the day would come when the Dark Council denounced the psychotic woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The mission that Theron and Jorgan discuss over drinks can be found in _The Art of Being Invisible_ series, under the chapter _Target Acquired._


	4. Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The galaxy moves on, leaving those lost in the war to their fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up being shorter than originally planned, but I'd rather have it shorter than filler. After agonizing over it, I decided to post as is and move on.

**The Thunderclap**

Cormac stood next to Jorgan in the refreshers, watching the Cathar tug at the collar of his jacket. The unfamiliar material constricted around Cormac's neck and wrists too, and he grumbled.

"I feel you," Jorgan complained, lifting his lip in a silent snarl.

Though Elara thought Balic looked dashing in the dress uniform, he hated it. He didn't want to look dashing; he wanted to look like he could kill a guy using his only his thumbs. The clingy blues didn't convey that image; they fit too tightly in all the wrong places. Balic felt like one of those stuffy lordlings that he used to guard back on Alderaan, the ones who tried too hard. With a sigh, Balic pulled the hem of his jacket lower and sighed when it rode up again.

"Really, you two," Elara fussed from the doorway. "Stop fussing and leave them alone." She crossed the room to slap Jorgan's hand away from the high necked collar and adjusted his new major insignia. Then, she turned her attention to Cormac, clicking her tongue as she smoothed out the wrinkles in his jacket. Balic noticed unspent tears in her eyes when she avoided looking at him. Suddenly, his discomfort didn't seem as important.

"Hey, doll. I think I left one of my cufflinks in our room. Help me look for it?" Elara nodded silently and walked out the door. Jorgan's reflection raised an eyebrow, and Cormac shrugged in response. "Rough day all around, mate."

Cormac found Elara in the medbay. Her perfectly pressed formal uniform glimmered, proudly displaying the medals she had been awarded. For the first time, Balic noticed how snugly the fabric fit. Granted, it had been a while since the two of them had time alone together, a couple of months maybe, but he was pretty sure his wife hadn't always looked so . . . voluptuous.

"Balic," Elara began without turning away from remaking their bed against the far wall. It had looked fine before. Busy work meant that Cormac wasn't going to like whatever his wife had to say. "I think I'm going to accept the offer to retire early."

Elara had never been one to mince words, but her sudden change of heart slammed into Cormac hard enough that he forgot to breathe. Personnel Division had been back on the offensive. While they couldn't revoke Elara's citizenship, they had convinced the new chancellor that she might represent a security risk now that they were unofficially fighting a war on two fronts. Those damn desk jockeys had started hounding her just a month after the Republic signed the treaty with Zakuul. Elara had faced them with noble defiance, stating that she was a proud Republic citizen and would not leave her squad without proper medical care.

Of course, Jorgan had backed her all the way, which hadn't bought him any favors with the guys in charge of Fynta's rescue attempt. Not that it mattered anymore. Today, was the major's funeral.

Elara looked up at Balic when he didn't answer, a single tear sliding down her cheek. It broke his trance. "But why, Elara?" He moved closer to grab her shoulders and turn her towards him. "You can't let them win. I know today is tough, but it's all for show. I bet Fynta will cringe when she sees the circus they've turned her into."

Elara laughed, a sound like most women made when they thought they were being overly emotional. She wiped a pale hand across her cheek, then reached over to the counter and picked up her datapad. "I'm sorry, Balic. I should have told you as soon as I realized." She held out the device. "Things have progressed beyond my control."

Balic must have looked as confused as he felt. Elara's opened medical file filled the screen. His stomach rolled as he scanned the data, terrified that he was going to find that she'd contracted some deadly disease or had found an abnormal growth during her last physical. After a few minutes, he looked at Elara for translation. She stood on her toes, and reached to highlight the part of the file she wanted him to focus on.

The word  _positive_ glared up at Cormac. The gnawing fear that Elara was sick returned, until he saw the accompanying  _maternity_ beside it. It took a few seconds to sink in. Cormac wasn't even aware that he'd moved a hand to his mouth until Elara touched his raised arm. "I estimate two or three months," she explained, answering the question that he wanted to ask so badly, but couldn't manage.

Cormac wasn't sure how long he stared at those life-altering words, but eventually, he pulled his attention back to his wife. It all made sense now: why she decided to get out. If the Republic retired her now, she would get a pension and could go somewhere safe to have their baby.

Elara, ever the longsuffering physician, waited silently while Cormac worked out all the angles for himself. Of course, she'd already gone through this and come to the same conclusion. This was their best shot.

Balic didn't know what to say. He wrapped an arm around his wife and pulled her close. Setting the datapad on the bed so that both hands were free, he held her tightly. Cormac had wanted to be a dad since he and Elara first tied the knot four years ago. But, now was bad timing, probably the worst. Finally, he took a deep breath and kissed the top of her head. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea, doll."

"I'm sorry, Balic. I'm not sure what happened," Elara whispered into his chest.

Cormac squeezed a little tighter and managed a laugh. "I'm pretty sure I know how it happened, lover." He heard stifled giggles that ended in a half choked sob. "Don't ever apologize, Elara. You're going to be a wonderful mother, and I'll see you as often as I can."

Cormac realized how terrified Elara must be when her body trembled against his, knowing that she'd be forced to face this alone. There were no words to make her feel better, nothing he could promise to ease the passage into the next phase of their lives. The army wouldn't let him get out, not now.

Then, Cormac had another thought, one that twisted his guts and brought to mind more than one curse. How the hell were they going to tell Jorgan?

"Things are falling apart, Balic," Elara whispered finally.

Cormac leaned back to look at his wife. "Come on, why would you say that? This is a miracle, the start of a family." He put his hands on her dainty shoulders and gave them a gentle shake. "We'll get through this, Elara. We always do."

"We lost Cinlat to Revan," Elara answered as if she hadn't heard him. She leaned her forehead against his chest, and Balic closed his eyes to avoid thinking about the famed bounty hunter dying in his arms. "Yuun to the SIS, Verin is gone, then Vik left," Elara continued. Her voice broke at the final name on the list. "And Fynta to the Emperor. Now, I must leave as well."

Cormac refused to give up on Havoc Squad, or the major for that matter. He'd hold this bloody family of his together with sheer willpower if he had to, no matter the distance between them. Tightening his arms around Elara, Balic squeezed his eyes tighter. "It'll all be okay."

"Hello?" A woman called from the airlock, shattering the atmosphere around them.

"Shab, she's early." Cormac wiped Elara's tears with his thumbs, and kissed her forehead before slipping out of the medbay. He shut the door behind him to give Elara some privacy and walked hastily to the hallway where their newest recruit waited. "Up here, Captain."

The woman was younger than Balic expected, making him instantly feel like an old man. She held out a hand when she climbed the stairs, "Ginell Kanner."

Cormac gave the new captain points for not leading with her rank and took her hand with a firm shake. She had wind burnt skin, brown hair cut short, and dark eyes. Every bit the average soldier. Captain Kanner had been assigned as Havoc's new XO. She'd been handpicked by Malcom after threatening to slap Jorgan with a psych discharge if he didn't drop his search for Fynta. The Cathar had been left with the choice of taking the discharge with no benefits, or accepting a subordinate to spy on him.

Cormac wasn't sure how much of that Kanner knew, so he kept things formal. "Welcome aboard the Thunderclap, Captain. I'm Sergeant Balic Cormac."

The door to the medbay opened, and Elara stepped out to snap off a salute. "Lieutenant Elara Dorne, sir. Medical specialist for Havoc Squad."

Kanner didn't bat an eyelash at Elara's accent. "Pleasure to meet you both." She glanced around the ship. "I was told to report to Major Jorgan, is he here?"

Elara sighed, having fully regained her composure. "Indeed, and he's likely undone all the work I did to his jacket." She crossed the room to the refreshers and palmed the door open. "Sir, really now—" No doubt she'd begun to berate the Cathar in an accent already thickened by stress. Cormac couldn't help but grin. This, at least, felt normal.

Kanner scanned Cormac with her eyebrows pulled together. "Sergeant, not to sound dense on my first day, but what's with the fancy duds?"

"They didn't brief you on what you were walking into?" Kanner shook her head, and Cormac's good mood slipped a little. "Might as well fancy yourself up too, Captain. We've got a funeral to attend."

**Five Hours After the Publicized  
** **Memorial of Colonel Fynta Wolfe**

High Command issued a new mission without regard to Havoc Squad's raw emotions or exhaustion. Jorgan placed the Republic banner and posthumous awards on the bed next to Fynta's helmet and made for the bridge. He survived in a constant state of numbness that came from shutting down his emotions one by one. "We've got seventy-two hours of rest. Use it wisely," he called before heading up the stairs.

Jorgan's heart pounded against his ribs at the weight of what they'd done, how they'd given up. He combated the panic by breaking the next few minutes down into manageable steps. First, put the Thunderclap into hyperspace. Second, retreat to his room to sort himself out.

"Sir?" Kanner stood at the top of the stairs, hands clasped behind her back in a formal rest position. Aric closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He hadn't had the chance to properly introduce himself, and at the moment, he didn't feel sociable. Unfortunately, that wasn't his choice.

"Captain." Jorgan nodded towards the co-pilot's chair as he settled into his own. "I apologize for the rushed introductions before. We weren't expecting you until later in the afternoon."

Kanner seated herself and began the list of pre-flight checks. "My bad, sir. I arrived ahead of schedule and thought it would be a good idea to get acquainted with my new squad." She scowled at the console. "Had I realized what today was, I would have waited."

Kannar paused, then glanced at Jorgan. "All the same, sir. It was an honor to be allowed to represent Havoc Squad at the colonel's ceremony."

Jorgan appreciated that his new XO avoided the word funeral. Maybe this kid wouldn't be so bad. She'd been nothing but respectful throughout the day, and more subtle than she had to be. He could overlook the fact that she was fresh out of officer school, but trusting her would take time.

"You knew the colonel well, didn't you, sir?" Kanner asked as they raised the Thunderclap into the skylanes, then angled towards the blackness of space.

"I did," Jorgan answered. He didn't want to talk about Fynta, but he couldn't let her be forgotten. So he forced himself to relive her more daring schemes with Cormac, the touching moments with Dorne, and would answer Kanner's questions.

Kanner nodded. "I've read Colonel Wolfe's file and a number of reports written on her. She seemed like quite a woman. I have a sister in the SIS who was able to get me a couple of non-circulated material as well. Was she really like the read?" Jorgan kept his eyes straight, trying to work out whether this was a fishing expedition, or if the woman really found Fynta that interesting. Damn, he'd never been good at this stuff. Finally, Jorgan decided on the truth. He wouldn't hide his wife out of fear of repercussions. He'd crossed that line too long ago to be squeamish now.

"Every word of it," Jorgan answered. "Fynta had a flair for the dramatic, and most of the plans you read about were made on the fly when the original one didn't pan out."

The woman's eyebrows flew up, and she flopped back into her seat as they broke free of the planet's gravitational pull. Jorgan chuckled, something he hadn't done in a while. "Don't worry, you'll have your own stories soon enough. If there is one thing Fynta Wolfe taught me, it's that this galaxy is never what you expect it to be."

Kanner sat in quiet contemplation for some time after they entered hyperspace. Jorgan found that talking to someone who didn't know Fynta was a lot easier than reminiscing with the people who loved her. Although, the familiarity of sharing the bridge made him ache. "Is it true she was Mandalorian?" Kanner asked at last.

Aric nodded. "Also true."

"You were with her from the start, correct?" Jorgan cut his eyes at the new captain, choosing his words carefully in case she decided to dig too deep. Kanner continued as if she didn't notice, "After General Garza's testimony, the Havoc defection was declassified. You were the first new recruit."

Jorgan nodded again, and Kanner puffed all the air through her lips. "It must have been amazing to be friends with a woman like that."

"It was." Aric closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. "I'd love to see her again." Kanner faced him, but Jorgan kept his gaze focused on the viewport and redirected the conversation to safer territory. "Oh, you should know that Cormac and Dorne are married. They sleep in the medbay, so you'll have the barracks to yourself until we start rebuilding."

Kanner straightened in her chair. "I did note the lack of personal effects when I stowed my gear. It'll be nice, I shared a room with fifteen others for the last year. I don't think I'll know what to do with all the privacy."

"Don't get used to it. Command plans to rebuild us as soon as they find the right people." Jorgan decided that he'd shared enough, and a quiet room sounded perfect about now. "Get some rest, Kanner. No telling when we'll be able to again." He paused at the top of the stairs and turned back towards her. "If you want to hear war stories, ask Cormac."

"Yes, sir," Kanner replied, offering a polite smile. Damn, she was young. "Get some rest, sir."

Aric went to his room and shut the door. He locked his knees to avoid sliding to the floor, and let his head rest against the wall instead. If he let himself start falling apart again, he wouldn't be able to stop. The threat of discharge was the only thing that stemmed his manic search. Everyone believed that Fynta was still alive except the Republic Senate. After more than a year of nightmares and emotional exhaustion, he wondered if it would be better if she weren't.

Jorgan knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the only thing that could keep his wife silent for so long was death or imprisonment. He couldn't bear the thought of her alone in a cell for the last year. Aric almost wished they had found her body floating in space along with Marr's ship to quiet the nagging fear. Jorgan took a strained breath and crossed to the bed, suddenly desperate to get out of those blasted dress clothes.

The small, white jewel hooked on one of the collar decorations as Jorgan unbuttoned the jacket. He stared at the necklace that he'd given Fynta years ago. The memory of slipping it around his neck, and her promise to return for it momentarily numbed his senses. Anger as familiar as Fynta's caresses welled inside Aric's chest, and he shoved it down with brute force. Slouching onto the bed, Jorgan picked up her helmet. It felt smooth in his hands despite the dents and dings, and he knew the story behind each. She loved this helmet.

Jorgan sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, thinking back to the previous night's dream. Fynta knelt before him, looking down with anguish in her eyes. In the past, she would apologize or reach for him, but her fingers never made contact. Last night, she had simply stared. Fynta's lips moved, but Jorgan couldn't make out the words. A white haired man materialized behind her with a smile. Fynta's face contorted in hatred when he spoke, but the man's voice failed to pierce the veil.

Jorgan's protective instinct had kicked in, but when he tried to move, the dream flickered. Aric laid motionless while Fynta berated the man. She turned sharply, reacting to a sound that Jorgan couldn't see. Fynta swore, then raised her weapon. Aric woke to the dark ceiling above his bed and a hollow ache in his chest.

Jorgan's only consolation was that Fynta might still be alive. He didn't know what the dreams meant, but he hadn't gotten a full night's sleep in years. Placing the helmet back on the nightstand, Jorgan laid back and closed his eyes. He wanted to dream of Fynta again, but he feared what he might find. The Cathar snorted, they were just dreams. Jorgan's last thought before slipping into sleep was that maybe he should have taken the psych discharge.

**Zakuul**

Overall, Lana had no quarrel with the people of Zakuul. She'd even go so far as to admit that Emperor Arcann was a brilliant strategist. That modicum of respect for the man's talents wouldn't derail her plans to overthrow him, of course, but it was nice to find herself against a worthy adversary.

Lana and Solish crouched at the gate leading from the swampy wilderness covering the planet to the posh city beyond. Her mottled green robes obscured her form, but it was nothing compared to her Cathar companion. Solish had taken to covering her face again. However, she'd exchanged the feline mask from her younger days for a wrap that covered the lower half of her face along with her hair. The Sith's golden eyes gleamed from within the dark fabric, causing more than one native to give them a wide berth.

"We could simply kill them, you know," Solish drolled. Lana pressed her lips together, allowing silence to answer for her. The Cathar huffed. "You should have brought the Wrath, or perhaps his Knight. I do not like slinking in the shadows."

"Then, let's move," Lana answered. Their window of opportunity had finally arrived as the outer gate opened to allow sanitation droids to dump the last hour's refuse.

Calling on the Force, Lana willed power into her legs, launching herself over the droids rusted domes. Solish followed closely, and both women hit the ground at a run on the other side. The traditional Cathar blade gleamed in Solish's hand, though Lana chose not to ignite her own weapon yet. The saber was a new addition, Lana noted. She decided not to ask the Cathar which of her kind she wrenched it from. There were bigger problems to deal with than a mad Sith's occasional crimes against her own species.

"The junction is up here," Lana called over her shoulder a second before Solish hissed and sent her sprawling with an invisible shove. Had she been less skilled, Lana would have landed face down in sewage. However, she managed to regain her footing in time to flatten herself against the wall.

Growing up Sith meant that Lana's first thought was to guard her back against possible attack. She quickly dismissed that line of reasoning when Solish melted into the shadows at her side. "I heard something. This way," a woman's voice whispered along the tunnels. Lana shared a look with Solish and unclipped the lightsaber from her belt. They had a job to do, collateral damage was all a part of war.

"Hold on," a male replied, his voice deep and wary. "No one should be down here."

The water rippled as the group drew closer. Lana steadied her breathing, then counted down for Solish. The Cathar lifted her saber, eyes glowing with excitement. On Lana's signal, both Sith spun into the corridor to instant blaster fire. The speed of their attack meant that these weren't beggars, but skilled soldiers. Her intel had been wrong about patrols not frequenting the lower tunnels. No matter, they would cut through them all the same.

Lana deflected the bolts, advancing on the soldiers until she could see their eyes in the dim glow of her lightsaber.  _Eyes, not helmets._  It all happened in the space of a heartbeat: Lana took in the heavy leather clothing, outdated military weapons, and exposed skin. They were the resistance. "Solish, stop!"

Extending her arm so quickly that the joint in her elbow popped, Lana wrapped Solish's blade in a protective layer of air before it could sever its victim in half. The Cathar snarled, sending a murderous glare in Lana's direction.

"Hold your fire!" The man ordered. He had dark skin, wild black hair, and suspicious eyes that couldn't mask the kindness within. He and Lana measured one another over their weapons, both refusing to blink first. Slowly, the torches attached to their rifles flipped on to reveal a group of roughly a dozen men and women. "Not from around here?"

The question almost made Lana laugh. "No," she answered, cutting straight to the point. "You're a part of the resistance, yes?"

A large shadow snorted in the background. "We  _are_  the resistance."

"Shut it, Lem," the man ordered over his shoulder, clearly holding rank amongst the ragtag crew. He pulled his attention back to Lana. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to string Arcann's entrails across the Spire," Solish answered, her inhuman voice purring as she painted the grotesque mental image.

The man squinted towards Solish, no doubt focusing on her eyes and marking her for what she was. An alien and a predator. Finally, he shrugged and slung his rifle over his shoulder. With hand extended towards Lana in friendship, the man continued. "Sounds good to me. The name's Koth Vortena."


	5. Year Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing begins just in time for it all to fall to pieces again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot's of Mando'a in this one, all translations can be found at the bottom. Also, for the sake of this story, I've advanced Torian's age to equal that of Cinlat and Verin's.

**Mandalore  
** **Keldabe**

Verin sequestered himself in the Mantis for the first two nights on Manda'yaim. Seeing the planet brought back the emptiness from Cinlat's death. Though it had come at the hands of a worthy adversary, Verin couldn't help but wonder what life would be like if they had run instead of facing Revan. He looked over the barren landscape and imagined a farm on the horizon. Regardless of what she'd said, the sky was Cinlat's home, not a sunken metal and wood structure. The thought of her tending a garden or herding livestock brought a smirk to his lips. She'd likely shoot the beasts when they failed to take her threats seriously.

"Aay'han, Cin," Verin murmured respectfully as he lifted a cup of tihaar to his lips, savoring the scorching path it took to his stomach.

For the most part, Verin buried his anger and grief. His grey armor had faded into a drab color that meant nothing. And though, Verin kept Cinlat's helmet and rippers, he'd moved them to the rare weapons case instead of his bedside table. It was a step towards recovery, he knew that much, but he didn't sleep for the first three nights.

Pounding on the airlock brought Verin from his musing. He looked at the half-written letter to his sister, another woman in his life he needed to let go, and clicked off the screen. In all likelihood, Fynta had finally found the death she'd chased for so long. He hoped that she was at peace, though he mourned for Jorgan.

The banging persisted, and Verin pushed from his seat with a sigh. Opening the hatch, he stuttered a curse as four pairs of hands reached into to haul him from the safety of the ship. The culprits were from Clan Ordo and Cadera, old friends from days gone by.

"Out," Agu laughed, looping an arm around Verin's shoulders. You've been locked in that ship too long. We're taking you to the Oyu'baat, and you're buying us all a round of gal. How's that sound, famous hunter?" Agu smacked Verin's chest with his free hand, forcing a grunt when the gauntlet struck his ribs.

Verin allowed himself to be led from the open air spaceport towards the city of Keldabe, feet drumming up plumes of dust as they tromped towards the famous pub. Verin recognized many sights from his childhood, the state of apparent disrepair that made them look like rustic reminders of millennia past. Nostalgia washed over him when they passed the particularly worn shop where the old metalsmith helped he and Fynta forge their first sets of beskar'gam. Verin looked away before the memory could drown him.

The Qyu'baat was always crowded, but, with the call of Artus Lok, his untimely death, and the rise of his replacement, the place had standing room only. "Come on, Verin. For old time's sake?" Zeg held out his hand, fingers waggling expectantly.

Verin sighed and dropped credits into his friend's glove, then shook his head as the group pushed their way through the crowd towards the bar. Everyone waited to hear what the new Mand'alore had planned, and Verin hadn't been surprised in the slightest that it ended up being Shae Vizla who took up the mantle. She had been hesitant about helping them take down Revan. Now, she was preparing to lead a conglomeration of clans and loners across the galaxy in a tide of beskar. While holding the clans together sounded like a terrible job to Verin, he'd answered the call. Above all else, he was Mando'ade.

"Verin Wolfe." The familiar voice came from none other than Torian Cadera. The years had stripped the vestiges of baby fat, transforming Torian into the rugged man like all the others of his generation.  _About damn time,_  Verin thought as Torian lifted a mug in greeting; the man had looked like a kid far too long. "Word traveled fast about Cinlat. Sorry for your loss."

Verin had long since gotten over the annoyance of his late wife's ex. She and Torian had given it a go, and it hadn't worked out. Sometimes, that happened. It had been an unpleasant split, from what little Cinlat had divulged, but she'd never spurned Torian's skill as a warrior. Verin had only seen the man in passing, but his parentage was the stuff of legends.

Verin offered an appreciative nod. "She died fighting."

"That's the only kind of death suitable for a woman like Cinlat Ejnar," Torian complimented. "Have you found a clan yet?"

Verin shook his head. Life was shabbing lonely without an aliit, and Havoc Squad had become more difficult to track down in the intervening years. That had been Verin's reason for hiding aboard the ship. He needed to choose a clan and approach that leader with a bid to join, but the task proved too daunting.

Torian clapped Verin on the back and angled his head towards the door. The two men stepped into the unusually busy streets, and Torian took a deep breath. "Cinlat wasn't my spouse, and I'm sure I didn't know her like you," he began. Verin stared pointedly at the wall across the street, painted to look like rotten wood. "But, she played a big part in my life. We won the Great Hunt together; she helped restore my clan's honor."

Verin pulled his gaze to the man next to him, crossing his arms when he spoke. "What are you getting at, vod?"

Torian met his stare with an unflinching certainty that impressed Verin. "I'm rebuilding Clan Cadera, and it'd do us a lot of good to have someone with your reputation join us. Not to mention, I can't imagine a better way to honor an old friend. Cinlat wouldn't have wanted you to face this battle alone."

Verin didn't know which battle Torian spoke of: the one he fought every night when he stared at an empty bed, or the upcoming war with Zakuul. What Verin  _did_  know, was that the chief of Clan Cadera had just offered him a place in his aliit. He wouldn't have to be alone anymore, and Cinlat held enough respect for Torian to have spent two years of her life with him. It seemed as logical a solution as any.

Before Verin could talk himself out of accepting, he stretched out his hand to Torian. "It'd be my honor, alor."

 **Thunderclap  
** **Orbit around Coruscant**

" _It's a boy!"_  Cormac held his infant son up to the holo-recorder for the rest of the squad to see.

Havoc had a full crew again. A few months after Fynta's funeral, Dorne had found a Kel'dor medic that she claimed showed great promise in his field. Abbeth had proven her right, saving their lives more than once. The thin man looked like every other Kel'dor, complete with bronze goggles and breathing mask.

"Congratulations, Cormac! And of course, Dorne. What are you going to name him?" Xaban asked. Their demolitions expert was the biggest Twi'lek that Jorgan had ever seen. She could fit Cormac's head in the palm of her hand, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Jorgan. The high pitched, bubbly voice sounded comical coming from her large frame. Cormac cracked up every time that Xaban swore. He said it sounded like a little kid who needed their mouth washed out with soap. Xaban dared him to try it once, and the ensuing mess had taken two hours to mop up.

" _Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that one, boss."_ Cormac smiled at his son before looking back into the receiver.  _"We talked about it a lot, and we'd like to name him Tayl, in honor of Fynta."_

Jorgan smiled, an action that had become easier with every passing day. He imagined Fynta's expression at hearing the name. That had become more challenging as time went on. He kept her picture at hand, terrified that one day he wouldn't be able to remember what she looked like at all. Even now, her face hazed in his dreams. Jorgan knew she kept him company while he slept, but he'd already forgotten the sound of her laugh. All he could hear now were the deeper tones that she used when preparing for an attack.

"What does it mean?" Kanner asked, leaning over Abbeth's head for a better look at the infant. She grinned, slapping Xaban's shoulder, and the two women began cooing at holo.

 _"It's hard to put into Basic. It's meant to preserve Fynta's memory, to say that we refuse to forget."_ Cormac explained, beaming at his son. _"She never had kids of her own, it seemed only fitting."_ The big man chuckled lightly. " _I bet she'd get a real kick out of it."_ Jorgan's chest clenched with the reminder that he'd never father or raise children of his own either.

"When do we get to meet him?" Torg asked. He was the newest recruit, a Kaleesh straight out of training who'd just earned his traditional bone mask. No one had seen the kid without it, and his thick accent had taken some getting used to. He was handy with gadgets, though.

Cormac playfully hugged the baby closer, shaking his head vehemently.  _"You kidding me? I'm not letting you get those red claws on my kid until he knows how to use a bayonet!"_

Torg answered with a throaty chuckle.

As Jorgan watched the squad banter, he thought again about how different this group of kids were from the one under Fynta's charge. Despite being professional soldiers fighting a brutal war, they were all so  _young_.  _"Sir, I'll rendezvous with the Thunderclap in twenty-six hours. I appreciate the R &R_," Cormac added, looking over his shoulder. When Tayl started to fuss, Elara entered the frame, waving at everyone on the other end.

The Thunderclap orbited Coruscant while their squadmate visited the planet below. Jorgan hated that they hadn't made it in time for Tayl's birth. Cormac had missed his son coming into the world, and Dorne had been alone. At least the medcenter had allowed her to broadcast the delivery over Cormac's encrypted link. Given the fact that the center belonged to the military, they were used to such occurrences, assuring Balic that many military parents welcomed their children in the same manner.

Cormac and Dorne had allowed Jorgan to witness the event, and it was both terrifying and astounding. Elara had chosen to give birth naturally, as per the women of her family. Jorgan learned that beneath her refined exterior, the woman had a colorful vocabulary that would have impressed even Fynta. Cormac had made reassuring sounds to his wife while grinning like an idiot and slapping Jorgan's shoulder.

"Get off the holo and spend some time with your family," Jorgan ordered, waving Cormac away when he didn't follow Elara out of the shot.

" _Right, boss. Oh, hold on."_  Cormac vanished to be replaced by Dorne.

" _It's good to see you, sir. I hope everyone is well?"_ Elara looked exhausted, but she radiated happiness. Jorgan had never seen her hair and clothing so unkempt, and he almost felt the need to look away, as if she was somehow indecent.

Torg moved closer and rolled up his sleeve to show a newly stitched bicep. "Abbeth is getting better, he stitched the right arm this time."

The Kel'dor whacked Torg upside the head, eliciting a tired giggle from Dorne. _"Yes, those are very nice, well done."_ She'd only met Kanner and Abbeth, but Cormac made sure that Dorne had a chance to talk to everyone so she didn't feel cast aside. Jorgan pitied the woman, though he'd never admit it out loud. Dorne had given up her military career to raise a child, and Aric intended to ensure that Cormac didn't miss any more of it than he had to.

"Alright, everyone back to work," Jorgan nudged the two soldiers closest to him to get their attention. Havoc Squad said its farewells, and Dorne signed off.

When Jorgan crossed the main room on the way to his quarters, he noticed Kanner studying her datapad. Her legs curled in the chair the same strange way that women often sat when they claimed to be relaxed. With each passing month, Jorgan's XO reminded him more of Fynta. It was the little things: the way she sat, or how she cussed at one of her male compatriots, foul, but friendly.

Only two days ago, Jorgan had witnessed Kanner winking at Xaban. They'd planned a prank on Torg and executed it flawlessly. Jorgan swore that if she'd had blond hair and blue eyes, he'd be staring at his wife. Granted, Kanner was much younger, nearly fifteen years his junior. That gap made Jorgan's relationship with his XO more akin to what Cinlat must have felt when Fynta stumbled into her life. He both treasured and hated those little reminders.

The sound of lightsabers caught Jorgan's attention, and curiosity got the better of him. "What are you watching?"

Kanner jumped, sitting straight as if caught in a misdeed. She met Jorgan's gaze momentarily before motioning for him to look over her shoulder. "You remember my cousin from the SIS?" Aric nodded, propping his hands on the back of her chair while Kanner continued. "Well, she just sent me the latest declassified Havoc Squad footage."

Kanner angled her datapad to show Jorgan the stilled image of a Togruta with a purple lightsaber, a Mandalorian in red and black armor, and Republic SpecForce commander who had no business dueling a Chagrian Sith. "Were you there, sir?"

Jorgan leaned forward and pressed play, watching as the three woman fought in perfect synchronization, eventually allowing the Jedi to behead the Sith. "I was," he nodded at the footage. "That's my camera. The Jedi's name is Kaeto Vaa, and the Mandalorian was Fynta's sister-in-law, Cinlat Ejnar. We were tasked with taking Tython back from the Sith."

So much had changed in the short years since Revan. Kaeto had moved on from the Jedi Order, and Cinlat had died on Yavin. Fynta was lost as well, and it occurred to Jorgan suddenly that Cormac was the only soldier from that mission still around. "The Sith's name was Lord Goh," Jorgan added, swallowing past the familiar grief that gathered in his throat.

That footage hurdled Aric back to the time he and Fynta had spent together after they'd returned to the Thunderclap: her hair falling in a curtain around their faces, the way she laughed when he snarled her name, or the familiar roll of her hips as he—Jorgan had to physically shake himself to banish the unwelcome images. Now was  _not_  the appropriate time for those particular memories.

Kanner reclaimed the datapad with wide eyes. "I'd love to learn how to fight like that."

Jorgan cleared his throat to force himself back to the present. Kanner had developed a bit of an obsession with the idea of Fynta Wolfe. He wasn't sure how they would have gotten along if trapped in the same squad, though. Even so, Kanner threw herself into emulating the woman who had united warring governments to fight against Revan. As far as heroes went, Jorgan figured she could do worse.

"Sir," Kanner called when Jorgan turned away. He paused at the entrance to his room to raise a questioning brow. Kanner chewed on her lip, a sign that what weighed on her mind shouldn't be discussed in the open.

With a sigh, Jorgan nodded for her to come in, then shut the door behind her. "What's on your mind?" He had reports to finish, but always tried to keep an open dialogue with his troops. That method had only backfired once, when Xaban had developed a crush on one of the nurses who'd treated her wounds and wanted advice on how to woo said nurse. Jorgan had directed her to Cormac.

"Can I ask a personal question?" Kanner stood in parade rest and refused to meet his eyes.

"I suppose," Jorgan ignored his XO's discomfort, keeping her in his peripheral. Kanner was young, and there wasn't much she could ask about his personal life after two years in a squad together.

Kanner cleared her throat, and Jorgan finally glanced in her direction. "Were you involved with the Colonel?"

Out of all the possibilities, that had been the question Jorgan expected the least. He lowered himself into the desk chair with deliberate slowness to avoid suspicion. The Cathar considered the woman for a long moment before answering with a question of his own. "What gave you that idea?"

The captain shrugged. "Just a hunch that I've been nursing for a while. I know she and Cormac were close, and I get the same vibe from you. But, it's different." Kanner finally relaxed, her expression softening. "My dad died when I was twelve, and I watched my mom flinch at the mere mention of his name for years. . . Kind of like you do, sir."

Jorgan propped his elbow on the desk and rubbed his chin. Fynta had been declared KIA more than a year ago. There really was no need to hide their relationship any longer. "Yes."

That one, small word lifted a burden from Jorgan's mind that he hadn't known he'd been carrying. Just to be able to tell someone who hadn't been there. Jorgan kept his eyes on the datapad while he spoke. "She was –  _is_  - my wife." After all, he still believed that Fynta was alive, right? Somewhere, his wife fought on, because a galaxy without Fynta Wolfe didn't make sense, not after everything she'd come through before.

Kanner nodded after a while, though the silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable. "I understand, sir," she said at last. "I appreciate your honesty. I imagine it must be tough carrying a secret like that."

The captain slid the door open, but paused to look back at him. Jorgan acknowledged her with a nod. "It's none of my business, but I think the rest of the squad would understand you a little better if they knew. They won't stop trying to set you up with other women otherwise."

Kanner offered a tight smile, then slipped out of the room. Jorgan heaved a sigh and pushed to his feet. He crossed to the bedside table to pick up Fynta's helmet, staring into the expressionless faceplate. Aric had told the squad that he kept it to remind himself of the kind of commander he wanted to be, and thought no

one suspected. Running his fingers along the familiar scorch marks that marred the white and grey surface, Jorgan smiled. Maybe Kanner was right; it was time stake his claim.

**Odessen**

"You've got to be kidding." Koth crossed his arms and glared at the circular ship. "Nope, not happening. Never again." He and Lana stood in an open hangar in the side of a mountain. One day, it might be an impressive base. At the moment, it was a giant cave that they camped in when the dregs of the Alliance needed to rest and refuel.

Lana rolled her eyes and stomped back to grab Koth by the arm. He was about to protest her brutality when she spoke over him. "Captain Hirani is the best pilot that we have access to. It's your own fault for losing that game of Sabacc, and honestly, I'm tired of hearing about it."

"She cheated," Koth protested as Lana used otherworldly strength to drag him up the ramp into _The Petulant Bitch_. Lana clicked her tongue in reply, but offered no other retort. Once she had him safely aboard, the Sith released his arm in order to join another one of their new recruits.

This woman came with a title and everything, the Barsen'thor, or something along those lines. Apparently, it was a big deal in the part of the galaxy that she came from. Koth didn't think it would help her here.

The woman was pretty, provided one ignored the lack of eyes. Koth still didn't understand how an entire species could be born without eyes. He wondered, far more often than he should, what it looked like under the decorative mask she wore. Lana had threatened all manner of nasty things should he ever press the subject. Apart from that, Master Notiac Carlo was appealing. She had nice curves, skin a little lighter than his own, and long hair to match her warm tones.

"If it isn't my favorite card player in the entire galaxy."

Koth groaned and turned slowly to find the source of his foul mood standing behind him. Hirani was, in every way, the Jedi's opposite, and he wondered how they hadn't killed each other yet. The pink-skinned Twi'lek was as rough as any soldier he'd ever met, and sought to make Koth's life hell. Sure, everyone else saw her as a bubbly, foul-mouthed little sister, but Koth knew better. They agreed on absolutely nothing, and Hirani delighted in baiting him into yelling matches. Something he fell for a lot more than he wanted to admit.

When Koth attempted to bypass the Twi'lek without comment, Hirani placed her ample figure in his path. "Excuse me," he growled. That had been his first mistake, because the smile that spread across her face was damn near feral.

"What say, Koth?" Hirani leaned a closer, though neglected to lower her voice. "Next time, we'll play for clothes. I've seen the way you eye me."

Koth sputtered, head snapping around to find both Lana and Notiac staring in his direction. Lana raised an eyebrow, and Koth couldn't help but believe that the Jedi had too. Turning on his heel, Koth pushed past Hirani and stalked down the hall towards his room, muttering. Sure he stared, but it was only because she was the first Twi'lek he'd ever met. Nothing wrong with being curious.

It took nearly twenty minutes to get into the air, and as soon as the ship made the jump to hyperspace, Lana called a meeting in the main room. Koth flopped onto one of the curved sofas and nodded his thanks when the hospitality droid offered him a beverage. It was beer, of course. Koth wasn't sure Hirani knew what water was.

"Inquiry." HK-55 held up a hand, his head swiveling to watch the C2 unit work. "Why does this droid have targets painted on him?"

Hirani settled a hip on the table and crossed her arms with a grin. "That way I'll know where to shoot if he gets out of line. Isn't that right, Glitch?"

"Yes, mistress," the droid replied, and HK's head tipped further in curiosity.

The assassin's next question shouldn't have surprised Koth. "Request: I should like to take part in that game." Hirani grinned at HK, and Koth sank deeper into the sofa.

"Alright, everyone. It's time to plan." Lana and Notiac had their heads together a lot lately, and rarely let anyone else join in their conversation until it had reached a conclusion. Koth secretly wondered if there was something going on between the women. His theory strengthened whenever Lana grew cross about his blatant flirting.

"All I know is that you've got me dropping you in the Old World, but a ship like this is going to draw attention," Hirani commented in a rare moment of professionalism. "I'm not risking the _Bitch_ , and you know that. So, I'm guessing you've got another plan in mind."

Lana nodded to the Twi'lek. "Indeed. We'll be connecting with a third party advisor once we reach Zakuulan space, well out of range of the planet's sensors." Lana stood in the center of the huddle with hands behind her back. "I'm meeting a contact who believes that she can point us in the right direction. She stumbled across a complex algorithm in one of the vaults contained within the Spire. Once we've confiscated this code, Theron and Zolah can begin decrypting it."

Koth raised a hand to grab Lana's attention. "Who's this contact?"

Golden eyes bored into his, but Koth knew the women too well to blink first. Sith might have been formidable in her part of the galaxy, but Force users were the norm on Zakuul. Finally, Lana sighed. "Someone who has access to what we need, and that's all you need to know for the moment."

Koth began to protest, but Lana cut him off again. "Hirani, you will wait with the ship while I make contact. Notiac will monitor the scanners and handle any problems that might arise with the local government. Her diplomatic skills are unsurpassed, so please do not shoot at anything unless absolutely necessary."

Hirani shrugged. "I make no promises."

Koth chuckled, then wiped his expression clear when the Twi'lek looked down at him. He'd be damned if he let Hirani think that she was forgiven for stealing his ship. She'd cheated, and he knew it. Proving that fact was more difficult.

To cover his mistake, Koth looked back to Lana. "And me?"

"I need you here in case the ship is boarded. Your capabilities as a soldier will be the deciding factor should it come to a fight."

Koth stared at the woman. "You're kidding, right?" When Lana didn't answer, he pushed to his feet. "You can't leave me here with her!" He gestured vaguely at Hirani, who made a half-hearted attempt to look affronted.

"Scared that I'll be too much to handle, Koth?" The Twi'lek purred, but it sounded more like a drunken cat.

Koth rounded on Hirani, hands on hips. "Oh, you're too much to handle all right, and not in a good way." He returned his attention to Lana, who'd already begun getting her gear ready. "Come on, if I'd known you planned on leaving me aboard the ship, I'd have stayed on—"

"Which is precisely why I didn't tell you." Lana finished with her pack and straightened to look Koth in the eye. "Honestly, do you want to help us free the Outlander or not?" Koth harrumphed and crossed his arms, pouting, for lack of a better word.

"We'll arrive in less than an hour. Notiac, would you help me double check my kit, please," Lana asked, clearly finished with the conversation. The eyeless woman nodded serenely, then the two disappeared down the hallway.

Koth planned to grouse the entire time, but his ill-mannered approach to the situation evaporated in a high pitched yelp when Hirani smacked his ass. The Twi'lek winked as she stalked towards the bridge, rolling ample hips more than necessary. "Admit it, Koth, you're looking forward to spending some quality time with me."

"One of us won't survive this," Koth swore under his breath. Hirani's answering laughter echoed down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> Manda'yaim [MAN-dah-YAI-eem] the planet Mandalore
> 
> aay'han [AY-ye-haan] bittersweet perfect moment of mourning and joy - remembering and celebrating
> 
> tihaar [TEE-har] alcoholic drink - strong clear spirit made from fruit, like eau de vie
> 
> The Oyu'baat was an ancient hotel and tapcaf, located on the Outer Rim world of Mandalore. The Oyu'baat was the oldest cantina on the planet, open for several thousand years by the start of the Clone time-worn tapcaf served as an unofficial center for the loose government formed by the chieftains of the various Mandalorian warrior clans,
> 
> gal [gahl] booze
> 
> Mando'ade [Mando-AH-day] Mandalorians (pl) - sons and/ or daughters of Mandalore
> 
> aliit [ah-LEET] family
> 
> vod [vohd] comrade, mate
> 
> alor [ah-LOR] leader, chief
> 
> Tayl's name is the shortened version of tome'tayl [TOH-meh-TAYL]  
> long memory


	6. Year Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans to rescue the Outlander are set into motion, and everyone has a part to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light smut warning. If you're avoiding those, then skip the Port Nowhere section.

  **Coruscant  
Military Housing District** 

Elara rubbed her temples in an attempt to drown out the crying in the next room. She’d been applying for positions within the military for nearly three weeks, but had been barred at every turn. Not even Aleksei, with his newly appointed citizenship and security with the SIS, had been able to blot out the stain of her Imperial birth. 

Elara’s brother had moved into their small apartment a few months ago to help care for Tayl if work should call her away. Unfortunately, neither her young son, nor the Republic Senate, had any intentions of letting Elara further her career. While she appreciated that Balic could support their family on his pay, she had no intention of sitting out of this war. She was a soldier, now a mother, and _Captain_ Dorne saw no reason why she couldn’t be both. 

With an exhausted sigh, Elara lowered herself into an armchair. Aleksei was working tonight, which was good because no one could sleep while Tayl wailed. Elara had never imagined that a three-month-old could be so demanding, or stubborn. 

A timer startled Elara from her thoughts, alerting her that the milk was ready. In preparation for going back to work, she had begun pumping. Elara had just turned off the machine when Tayl woke nearly an hour and a half ahead of schedule. A bottle would have to suffice for now. 

Entering the small room, Elara used the glow from Tayl’s mobile to find the crib rather than flipping on the overhead light. By now, they had a fairly standard routine. Elara placed a pillow next to his head and propped the bottle against it. As soon as his lips closed over the nipple, tiny hands flew to the new object within his grasp, clumsily knocking it away. The boy bellowed his frustration at being deprived of breakfast. 

Elara clucked her tongue and resituated the bottle, knowing this would only happen once. While Tayl suckled happily, Elara set to changing his diaper. It was a much easier feat while he was distracted now that he’d learned to roll around. 

Once her task was complete, Elara tossed the soiled garment into the bin to be dealt with later. She lifted her son, cradling him against her bosom while he finished his morning meal. Elara had no sooner settled into their favorite chair when her comm chirped. She swore, then bounced Tayl gently when he whimpered around his bottle. 

A quick look at the chrono offered assurance that it was far too early for a casual call; it had to be Balic. Elara hurried through the room as quickly as possible without jostling her son and answered the comm. “Dorne.” 

_“Hold the line for Supreme Commander Malcom, please,”_ a Mirialan woman requested in a stern tone. 

Elara blinked at the holo, her sleep deprived mind struggling to comprehend. Before long, a large man appeared. The right side of Commander Malcom’s face was badly scarred, though his neatly cropped facial hair covered it somewhat. The woman’s words finally sank in around the time the man began his greeting. Elara snapped off a sharp salute. The bottle tumbled from Tayl’s weak grip, startling the infant in his sleep. Luckily, he only whined softly, then snuggled closer. 

_“At ease, Captain.”_ Commander Malcom dismissed her with a wave of his hand. His gaze fell on the child in her arms, and Elara was instantly grateful that she hadn’t been nursing. Otherwise, the Supreme Commander of the Republic Army might have been privy to a more than Balic’s old t-shirt. 

“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll just put my son to bed. I imagine this is not a social call?” Elara took a step back to indicate her intentions, then retreated fully when Malcom nodded his assent. 

Elara hurriedly laid Tayl in his crib and began soft music that synchronized with the gentle lights above him. As an afterthought, she grabbed a pair of pants and a hair tie. She could pull her dreadfully messy locks into a ponytail at least. Let no one say that Elara Dorne couldn’t be bothered to attempt a professional appearance. 

Malcom was still waiting when Elara returned, scowling at something on his datapad. She cleared her throat, and the commander glanced up in alarm. _“That was quick,”_ he half chuckled. _“Your file did state that you were efficient to a fault.”_  

“To a fault?” Elara said before she could stop herself. Of course, Fynta’s doing, no doubt. A dull ache settled behind her ribs at the thought of her old friend. Tayl provided a distraction from the loss, but she still felt it as keenly as ever. 

Malcom offered a pleasant smile. _“That’s exactly what we need right now—forgive me, do you prefer Dorne or Cormac?”_  

“Dorne, sir,” Elara answered without hesitation. While she was legally bound to Balic, it had been less confusing for her to retain her maiden name while they served in the same squad. Now that she had her own reputation to maintain, Elara planned to continue in the same manner. Balic had never demanded anything else from her. He was secure in their relationship.

 Malcom nodded, his expression turning serious in the wake of his purpose. _“There’s a reason I called you this early, Dorne. I understand that you backed Major Jorgan’s appeal to continue searching for the former commander of Havoc Squad, Colonel Fynta Wolfe.”_  

Elara’s chin jutted forward when she answered. “I did.” 

_“This is strictly between us, Captain.”_ Malcom crossed his hands behind his back. _“My son’s gone dark, and if I know Theron, it’s because he’s still looking too._ _I’m aware that they were friends, but he also believed that Colonel Wolfe was somehow pivotal to the highly unsanctioned fight against Zakuul.”_ Commander Malcom paused. _“I’m offering you the opportunity to continue your search with Republic resources as a member of my team.”_  

Elara watched the man before her, suspicion twisting through her mind at a proposition that sounded too good to be true. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I feel that you are leaving something out.” 

_“Prudent as expected.”_ Malcom held his datapad aloft and flicked his wrist. Elara’s chimed in her bedroom to indicate an incoming file download. _“I’ve just given you all the information we have on your friend. I need to know whether or not the colonel is still alive, and I’m sure you’d like to find closure. At this moment, I can’t discuss it any further.”_ Malcom looked at his wristchrono, then back to Elara. _“I’ll give you forty-eight hours to consider my offer. Then, I’d like your answer. And Captain?”_  

“Sir?" 

_“This_ stays _between us.”_ The call disconnected, leaving Elara in a dark room with a lot of unanswered questions. 

**Planet of Null**  

Jorgan waded through piles of Skytrooper scrap, looking for anything salvageable. Tayl’s small voice filled Jorgan’s helmet as he demonstrated the new words he’d learned. The Cathar tried not to flinch when Cormac offered words of encouragement. The man hadn’t seen his wife or son in nearly six months. Sure, Cormac commed them as often as he could, but Jorgan knew it was a poor excuse for the real thing. 

Tayl tested a few words in Ryl, an impressive feat for a kid who’d barely mastered Basic. “Hey! Who’s a smart kid?" Cormac cheered. "You get your brains from your mum’s side.” 

_“Honestly Balic, you shouldn’t sell yourself short in front of our son,”_ Dorne chided, though Jorgan heard pride in her voice. Tayl had just hit eleven months old and already had a more extensive vocabulary than most two year olds. Jorgan couldn’t believe how fast time had gone by. The boy brought new life into Havoc, and he enjoyed being a part of it. If only Jorgan could provide more time for Cormac to actually be with his family.   

“Sir, I might have found something,” Kanner cut in, keeping her voice low to avoid distracting Cormac. The tracker placed her position half a klick to the east, another unfortunate issue that Havoc had to contend with now. All soldiers were to be fitted with positional locators in case of injury. Although, Jorgan assumed it had more to do with quelling the number of defections than anything else.

Havoc had landed on Null in the middle of summer, making it impossible to see one another through the thick undergrowth and centuries-old trees. Voices fell flat in the heavy air, while the calls of native birds bounced around effortlessly. Were it not for their helmets, the soldiers wouldn’t have been able to spread out far enough to complete an effective search. 

“Hey doll, I’ve got to go, duty calls. Sleep tight, Tayl’ika,” Cormac commented, his voice taking on the serious cadence of duty. Even after more than three years, hearing the familiar, Mandalorian endearment twisted Jorgan’s gut. While he had never fully slipped into Fynta’s traditions, Cormac held onto them as if it were the only thing keeping her memory alive. 

Apart from the odd question from Kanner when more Havoc documents were declassified, hardly anyone spoke of the lost commander now. Even Cormac didn’t reminisce as much as he used to. It struck Jorgan that next month, he and Fynta would have spent as much time apart as they had together. The thought rankled, even though he clung to the hope that she was alive. Sleepless nights had plagued Jorgan for longer than he cared to dwell on. He imagined the horrors that Fynta might have endured in Arcann’s custody. Nearly five years—she’d be a completely different woman by now. Not even his wife’s famous stubbornness could hold out that long.   

Jorgan still wore Fynta’s necklace. Lately, it felt more like a weight around his neck than a peaceful reminder of better times. Even his dreams had become muted by their normalcy. Jorgan hadn’t told anyone about those, but Kanner and Cormac suspected something of the sort. They took turns standing vigil with their commander when he couldn’t face sleep. Neither said a word, they simply made a cup of ‘caf and sat down to read or check messages. Cormac usually passed out with his arms folded on the table, but Kanner never wavered. 

“Sir, I believe this is what we’ve been searching for.” Kanner pulled Jorgan out of his dismal thoughts, holding a holodisc in front of his faceplate. Havoc Squad had been searching hot zones for two months in the hopes of stumbling across schematics for a new weapon called the _Star Fortress_. The SIS, or what was left of it, had been adamant that the intel could turn the tide in the war, a sentiment that Jorgan had heard all too often during his career. 

Plucking the disc from his XO’s fingers, Jorgan secured it in his shoulder pocket. “Good work, let’s get back to the ship.” 

“Skytroopers inbound!” Torg called from somewhere in the canopy. Watching the Kaleesh scale one of the massive tree trunks in full gear had been impressive. He served as their lookout and early warning system on a planet where technology did them little good. 

“Blast! How do they keep finding us?” Jorgan growled, giving the order to move out. Every time Havoc remained stationary for longer than a few days, Skytroopers appeared not long after. They hadn’t even been safe in the vastness of space, reducing the soldiers to sleeping in shifts so that someone was always prepared to jump to hyperspace. 

Cormac panted along at Jorgan’s right, annoyance clear in his haggard voice. Havoc Squad was worn thin from the constant motion. “Either we’re bugged, or the ship is," Cormac huffed as he ran. "I know we’ve done sweeps, but these bastards have been on our tail ever since that last trip into the Unknown Regions. We don’t have a clue what kind of tech they use.” 

Jorgan had thought the same thing more than once, but he hadn’t been ready to give up the Thunderclap. That ship had been home for eight years; a sanctuary shared with his wife. _It has to be done_ , he growled inwardly. They would ditch at the next stop and find an alternate route back to Coruscant. Jorgan began compiling a mental checklist of things he needed to pack for squad integrity and items that he refused to leave behind. 

Cormac pulled up short, and Jorgan nearly tripped over his own feet when he whirled around to see what the problem was. Balic had his helmet tipped to the side, then started jogging back towards a dilapidated village. “Kanner, get that back to the ship,” Jorgan ordered, following after Cormac. “What is it?” 

Balic stepped into the ring of burned huts, head swiveling. “I thought I heard something.” 

Jorgan turned up his ambient sound, but only the din of approaching Skytroopers met his ears. “It’s nothing, let’s—” Then, he heard it. The sound was no more than a squeak, but definitely organic. 

“Shab, I think there is someone out there.” Cormac began to run, calling out as he lifted debris. 

After a few fruitless moments of searching, Aric shook his head. “It was the wind, or maybe wildlife. We’ve got a mission to complete, soldier.” He grabbed Cormac’s arm to pull him towards the ship, but the big man shook him off. “Lieutenant, I’m issuing a direct order to—” 

Jorgan cut off again when Cormac dropped to his knees and shoved his head into some burned out foliage. When he reappeared, anger coated every word. “There’s a secret room here. Someone’s inside.” 

Swallowing his guilt, Jorgan knelt beside Cormac to help uncover a metal trap door. The thing had jammed from the pressure of the house collapsing. It took longer than Jorgan would have liked, but eventually, they managed to pry it loose. The Cathar slid inside while Balic made sure the door didn’t slam shut behind him.

“Anyone in there?” The man grunted from the weight of the plexisteel slab.

Jorgan’s eyes adjusted to reveal a tiny figure in the corner of the room. It blinked at him with massive, black eyes, then shied further into the darkness. “Yeah, a kid, hold on.” Jorgan removed his helmet so the child could see that he wasn’t a threat. As he drew closer, he judged that it was a Nautolan girl by the faded dress she wore.   

“Easy, I’m here to help.” Not all Nautolan spoke Basic, so Jorgan made comforting noises as he approached, arms held away from his sides. The little girl made no move to run, allowing Jorgan to scoop her into his arms. As he turned to update Cormac, the girl snarled. A flare of pain shot through the left side of Aric’s face. The Cathar swore when he realized she’d clamped sharp teeth firmly around his ear.   

When Jorgan finally pried the teeth from his flesh, he ignored the blood trickling down his neck and handed the girl up to Cormac with a warning that she might turn violent. By the time Jorgan scrambled out of the hole, she’d gone limp in Balic’s arms. “Shab,” the big man breathed. “She’s so little.” 

Aric closed the distance to get a better look at the girl in the light and swore again. He estimated that she was no more than four years old, far too young to be left on dry ground this long. “She’s severely dehydrated.”   

Aric knew from his early days of medical training, before he’d found his calling as a sniper, that the younger the Nautolan, the more water they needed access too. He slipped his helmet on and flashed Abbeth. Taking the girl now unconscious girl from Cormac, Jorgan started running towards the ship, trusting his friend to cover their retreat as the sound of Skytroopers crashing through the forest grew louder. 

“Abbeth,” Jorgan puffed. “Get the koltotank ready, we’re coming in hot with a casualty.” 

**Port Nowhere**  

Theron Shan rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes shut, while Lana paced back and forth on the holo. _“Are you saying that the combined efforts of Republic and Imperial Intelligence are not enough to crack that encryption?”_ Damn, he hated that haughty tone, mostly because she was right. 

Holding in a frustrated sigh, Theron glanced at the door where Zolah had excused herself to get dinner. “No, we’re close to breaking through the last few layers.” He paused to look at the blond Sith. “You’re sure she’s still alive? It’s been four years.” Theron, Zolah, and Vector had traveled all over the kriffing galaxy searching for any hint of Fynta, yet Lana was the one who managed to dig up any real intel. Koth had been invaluable, but Theron felt like they were running out of time. This dataspike, highly encrypted and gleaned from questionable sources, supposedly held her exact location. 

_“Most certainly,”_ the Sith answered with a nod. _“I can feel her through the Force, Theron. Our commander is here.”_ Theron lifted his eyebrows at the term _our commander_ while Lana took in her surroundings. _“It is stronger here in the Old World, I just need the final coordinates.”_  

The lock clicked, and Theron’s eyes flicked to the door. “Alright, we’ll keep cracking and contact you as soon as we have something. Shan out.” Lana made a noise of protest, but Theron cut the line before she could get the words out. A moment later, a Class-5 maintenance droid appeared in the doorway with two sacks of food. 

Theron watched the droid suspiciously as it dropped the bags on the bed and shook violently. To his astonishment, the metal facade faded to reveal Theron’s blue-skinned lover. Zolah flashed a coy grin. “Did I have you worried?” 

“Oh, I have got to get one of those.” Theron stood and walked a slow circle around Zolah to see if he could pinpoint the transponder. “Where did you find tech like this?” 

The Chiss batted Theron’s hands away when he lifted the back of her shirt. “It’s a gift from an old acquaintance, implanted directly into my spine.” 

Theron put his hands on his hips and smirked. “No shit? Directly into the spine.”

“It was an unpleasant experience all around,” Zolah responded dryly. “So, any luck?” She rifled through the bags, handing Theron a sandwich. He peeked in and noticed that there were only two, instead of the three that he’d become accustomed to. 

When Zolah followed his gaze, she laughed. “Don’t worry, Vector will return in a few hours. He had other business to attend to.” 

The three spies spent most of their time together, but occasionally, duty required for one to split off from the group to complete a mission alone. Despite sharing a bed with Zolah, and a budding friendship with Vector, they still hoarded contacts like the entire mission depended on their secrecy.   

“Lana called,” Theron began, returning his gaze to the food and wondering if it would be wise to ask what kind of meat they used on the smuggler station. Zolah leaned against the desk while she ate, waving her hand expectantly when Theron didn’t continue fast enough. “More of the same. Crack the Code. Find the Outlander.” Zolah nodded, making it clear that she understood Theron’s frustration, so he continued. “She thinks Fynta is in the Old World, and that these coordinates hold the key." 

“I suppose we’ll know soon enough if our dear Sith’s instincts were correct,” Zolah remarked. Theron snorted at the endearment. Lana might be an ally, hell, he’d even claim her as a friend some days, but _dear Sith_ was pushing it.   

Zolah grabbed her datapad and flopped onto the bed to review their results. “Well, we _are_ close.” She tapped the implant that curved over her right eye and blinked twice. “Only three more hours.” 

Three hours. That suddenly felt a lot shorter than it had a moment ago. Once Zolah’s encryption finished, all hell would break loose as they planned, tested, then replanned how to break Fynta out of whatever prison Arcann had her holed up in. There would be no more quiet moments, no time to spend with one another cultivating whatever this bizarre relationship was. 

Setting his untasted sandwich aside, Theron reached for Zolah’s datapad. She released it, showing an amount of trust that Theron hadn’t expected. Though her red eyes blazed with suspicion, and one thin eyebrow arched. “Don’t trust me?” He asked with a crooked smile.

“Well, you _are_ my mortal enemy,” the Chiss replied with a devilish grin of her own. Something about the way her accent flowed over the accusation, combined with that smirk, drove Theron crazy. It _really_ shouldn’t. Her words were true; SIS and Imperial Intelligence were as close to mortal enemies as Sith and Jedi. But, Theron couldn’t fathom the thought of going back to Coruscant without her, and by extension, Vector. Theron had flirted awkwardly with the Killik Joiner once or twice, and he was sure the other man was interested. Yet, they always settled back into friendship, which Theron figured was enough. 

Looking at Zolah, sitting cross-legged with her chin braced on her fists, Theron couldn’t help but dread the day that they’d be forced apart again. His mantra of _Don’t fall for the enemy_ had been silenced more than a year ago. One day, the war would be over, and Theron would be faced with the consequences of his decisions, but that was still a long way off. For now, he’d enjoy the company of his two Imperial spies, and hope that they continued to enjoy his. 

Theron leaned forward to set Zolah’s datapad on the bedside table, intentionally not looking at it. “I’m assuming it’ll alert us when the program is finished?” Zolah nodded, tipping her head back to look at him. Theron could drown in those molten eyes. 

Placing his hands on Zolah’s cheeks, Theron brushed his thumb over the implants hidden in her hairline as he pushed the dark locks aside. She shuddered under his touch and sighed against Theron’s lips when he bent towards her. Pushing her back into the mattress, he kissed her roughly at first, then more tenderly as he gauged her mood. 

Zolah ran her hands over Theron’s arms, sliding them into the sleeves of his plain black shirt. He closed his eyes to focus on the trail of fire she left as her fingertips danced across his skin. Zolah moaned faintly against Theron’s ear when his hand drifted up her shirt. He traced her ribs, delighting in the lean muscles that moved beneath his touch.”You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered into her neck, nipping playfully at the exposed skin. 

“I think I’ve got an inkling.” The Chiss chuckled and rolled her hips against his. Theron sat back on his knees, pulling Zolah with him and motioned for her to lift her arms. “Awful demanding today, aren’t we?” She teased, but made no attempt to deny him. 

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, Theron smirked. “Are you saying that you’re willing to play the submissive this time?” 

Zolah wrapped her arms in the fabric as it cleared her head and flipped Theron so quickly that he yelped. As she settled above him, the Chiss tossed her shirt to the side and pinned his arms. “I submit to no one, Shan.” Her voice was deadly serious, and Theron’s body responded in a way he hadn’t expected. 

“Fine, then what do _you_ want, Holran?” Theron pushed his hips up and grinned when she narrowed her eyes. 

Without warning, Zolah’s mouth was on him, her eyes open and boring into his. Theron held her gaze, pushing his tongue between her lips. She broke their connection just long enough to unclasp her bra, which Theron almost lamented; it was a pretty number. When he laid eyes on what was hidden beneath, he decided the lace hadn’t been that nice after all. 

Theron had just enough time to wrench his shirt over his head before Zolah pressed their bodies together again. Her hand snaked between them to slide deftly under Theron’s belt, and he couldn’t stop the groan from escaping his lips as her fingers wrapped around him. “Oh, someone’s certainly in need of attention,” Zolah breathed, turning her head so that Theron could place rough kisses down her neck. 

Theron had always prided himself on being able to keep his wits about him no matter what happened to his body, but Zolah seemed to know all of his weaknesses. Theron knew hers too. 

Running his hands down Zolah’s spine, Theron cupped her ass and ground against the apex of her legs. Her hand stilled and her breathing hitched before finally regaining control. She pulled free, leaning back to free Theron of his pants, then kicking hers away too. Zolah’s eyes gleamed with lust, dark hair already mussed, and Theron all but growled the command to get back in bed. 

When Zolah joined him, Theron grabbed her around the waist and flipped them again. Her legs wrapped around his thighs, tugging at the backs of his legs with her heels. Theron laughed. “What’s the hurry?” 

“I don’t want you to get distracted,” Zolah answered in a breathy voice. 

“I’m distracted, no doubt about that,” Theron husked, tangling his fingers in her hair while rocking his hips against hers. He pushed into her slow enough to be both courteous and frustrating. They breathed together, deep, controlled actions until he was completely buried. Zolah’s fingers relaxed, her manicured nails withdrawing from Theron’s skin. 

Theron took a ragged breath, his heart pounding painfully behind his ribs. Zolah’s was no calmer, he could feel her pulse everywhere, surrounding him. He’d just set a steady rhythm when Zolah’s datapad chirped. Theron faltered, the haze of lust clearing as his implant picked up the message that the program had broken through ahead of schedule. 

“Shavit,” Zolah spat. “That’s why I was in a hurry.” 

The woman reached for the side table, but Theron caught her wrist. He brought it to his lips, barely brushing them against the sensitive skin. “I can ignore it,” he began, but Zolah lifted an unconvinced eyebrow. “Right, we should make this a quicky.” 

Zolah’s arm relaxed, and she rolled her hips in a way that Theron found irresistible. “Deal,” she smirked when his fingers tightened around her arm. “But, we need to set a new record.” 

**Zakuul  
**

“Are you sure?”  
  
Lana stood in the midst of the Midtown crowd. It was late morning, and the native Zakuulans carried on with business as usual. Lana kept the little astromech, T7-O1, with her to blend in with the hordes of other droid dependant masses. Master Kaeto Vaa had recruited her old friend the year before, and Lana had to admit that the droid was invaluable when it came to slicing into Zakuulan systems. She’d even venture to call him on par with Theron, though she’d never say such a thing out loud.  
  
_“Absolutely,”_ The man in question responded. _“We double checked it. If this information is accurate, things are going to be a lot more complicated.”  
  
_ Lana had taken to using an earpiece instead of handheld holo to avoid suspicion. She made sure to look down at T7 from time to time so that passersby would mistake her replies as intended for the droid, instead of transmitting an illegal signal off planet. “Tell me exactly what we are looking at.”  
  
The sound of shifting fabric greeted Lana before Zolah’s voice joined the line. _“The commander is being held in the Spire. According to this, she’s frozen in carbonite in Arcann’s trophy room.”_  
  
Some part of Lana was relieved to know that Fynta hadn’t been subjected to torture all these years. “Carbonite would explain why her lifeforce felt muted.”  
  
_“There’s more,”_ Zolah continued in a formal tone. _“Our timetable needs to advance faster than anticipated. The process wasn’t completed correctly. I sent the readings to a trusted contact, and he believes that she will be dead within the week if not treated for carbon poisoning.”_  
  
After all these years of searching, prize within Lana’s grasp, and suddenly they were out of time. “Where can I get this antidote?”  
  
_“Lana,”_ Theron cut in, _“You’re not doing this alone. Zolah and I can be there in three days, Vector in four. We need to work together.”_  
  
“There isn’t time.” Lana looked down at T7, then up at the massive tower that served as Arcann’s castle. “I’m not alone. I have allies here.”  
  
_“Lana, wait—”_  
  
Theron grunted, and Zolah returned to the line. _“I’ve sent you coordinates to the nearest medcenter and a feasible alibi for why you’d need that particular medication. Theron and I will leave immediately. Be careful, Lana.”_ The link cut, presumably so that Zolah could argue freely with Theron.  
  
T7 chirped and spun his dome to indicate that he’d received directions. With a heavy sigh, Lana opened a line to Koth as she followed the astromech. He answered on the second ring. _“Good news, Lana, I’ve got us a ride.”_  
  
“Excellent, because we move tomorrow,” she answered, turning down an alley to avoid a group of Knights on patrol.  
  
_“I’m sorry,”_ Koth answered. _“I think we hit some interference. It sounded like you said tomorrow.”_  
  
“I did,” Lana confirmed. There was so much to plan; contingencies to consider. She hated rushing headlong into danger without proper backup. “Information has come to my attention that our target will be dead within the week if we don’t act immediately.”  
  
Silence answered, and Lana could almost _feel_ Koth’s attitude shift from incredulous smart mouth to seasoned soldier. When he finally answered, it was with the dry mirth that she’d become all too familiar with. _“Guess it’s a good thing I brought HK, then.”_  
  
“Indeed,” Lana admitted. She’d been against bringing the assassin droid in the beginning, but Koth refused to leave him behind. “I’ve got an errand to run, then we’ll meet at the rendezvous. I hope your new – acquisition – doesn’t require too much maintenance.”  
  
_“She’ll do the job,”_ Koth replied, though he sounded deep in thought. Finally, the soldier sighed and released an ironic laugh in the same breath. _“It’s always a pleasure working with you, Lana.”_

 


	7. I See Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fynta Wolfe returns, and she's pissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve all played through the escape by now, so we’re going to blast through some of these parts, and I’ll to my best to make the transitions as smooth as possible. 
> 
> The title was inspired by the song _I See Fire_ by Ed Sheeran. I can’t help but imagine that’s exactly how any Outlander would have felt being woken into a galaxy that was in worse shape than they’d left it. Particularly the lines:  
>  _I see fire, burning the trees_  
>  _And I see fire, hollowing souls_  
>  _And I see fire, blood in the breeze_  
>  _And I hope that you'll remember me_
> 
> As always, Mando'a at the bottom.

**3632 BBY** ****  
**Udesla** **  
** **Orbit Over Darvannis**

“We’ve got our next objective, are you ready?” 

Torian stuck his head into the locker room aboard the flagship. Verin thought  _ Flagship _ might be generous when describing the skiff that shuttled the young chieftain’s most trusted warriors around the galaxy. It contained barracks, refreshers almost large enough to accommodate a small army, and plenty of space for weapons.

“Just about,” Verin answered as he buckled on his holster, then patted the long-barreled ripper that rested against his thigh. He had never mastered the type of accuracy that Cinlat commanded while wielding two, but he couldn’t bring himself to part with them. Verin kept one with him, and locked the other in his trunk. 

Shaking himself from the memories, Verin strapped his grandfather’s blade across his back. When he turned to join Torian on the bridge, the man found his way blocked by a woman with short hair, dark skin, and a challenging smirk. “Too busy stroking your beskad to heed the chieftain's call?”

“Jealousy doesn't become you, Keshal,” Verin replied with mock offense. He tugged the strap tight around his chest and smiled. “I’m intimately aware of this particular kad’s capabilities.” 

Verin sidled up next to the woman and leaned closer. “I’d be more than happy to teach you how to wield it properly ... if you ask nicely.”

Keshal shoved Verin into the wall, knocking him out of view of potential passersby. He chuckled and slid an arm around her waist, meeting her mouth as their tongues dueled. When Keshal pulled away, brown eyes narrowed in accusation. “You left early again this morning.”

“I wanted to check on Tranx before we landed,” Verin admitted. He righted himself, then straightened the various weapons that Keshal had knocked askew.

Only a twitch at the corner of Keshal’s lips indicated that she wasn’t still furious. Crossing her arms, Verin’s new wife waved a hand for him to continue. “And? Does my son still live?”

Verin nodded. “We came to an understanding.” 

Of course, that didn’t get the boy out of the brig.

Tranx and a couple of friends had gotten ahold of one of the alor’ad’s prized strill pups and painted it fluorescent green. Truth be told, they were lucky that the mother hadn’t ripped their throats out for looking at her young, much less handling one. Not to mention, the repercussions of pissing of the alor’ad while in hyperspace. There were only so many places that a group of five boys could hide on a ship the size of the  _ Udesla _ . 

A nostalgic smile pulled at Verin’s lips. He’d tried to talk Cinlat into starting a family for years, but he’d never imagined being a dad could be this complicated. Keshal’s husband had died in battle nearly seven years ago. Tranx had been five and barely remembered his father apart from the stories Keshal told him. According to the holo that Verin had seen, the man had shared his wife’s skin tone and boasted a tall, broad build with a serious demeanor; Verin’s opposite in every way. Then again, Keshal looked and acted nothing like Cinlat, so he supposed that made them even.

“That is good,” Keshal replied with a hint of laughter. “It would shame me for the boy’s father to meet him in the Manda so soon.” 

Keshal and her late husband were native to Clan Cadera, and she had been the first to return from exile when Torian sounded the call. She’d also been the last to accept Verin into the clan, only relenting when their aggressions towards one another ended in a target contest. The woman had shamed him, scoring sixty-seven to his fifty-two. Those numbers would be forever ingrained in Verin’s memories. Not that Keshal had any intention of letting him forget. 

Afterward, they’d drank too much ne'tra gal and managed to get caught in a Skytrooper ambush. Verin resorted to using his beskad to work off the frustration of losing so badly, and his skill had won Keshal’s respect. They stumbled back to camp, then, into Verin’s bunk. 

“Do you think he’s ready?” Keshal asked, though it took Verin a moment to follow her meaning. Tranx was twelve, soon to be thirteen, with the verd’goten looming around the corner.

Resting his hands on Keshal’s shoulders, Verin gave them a squeeze. She was a fierce warrior, someone that he’d never want to cross again, but every now and then, she’d allow herself to fret like any mother should. “He’s a strong boy. We all do stupid things.” 

Keshal snorted, but her smile returned. “Yeah, I’ve managed to find an even bigger di’kut to raise my little di’kut,” she teased, ruffling Verin’s hair. His chest tightened pleasantly. 

After nearly a year of functioning as a cohesive family unit, Keshal had allowed Verin to adopt her son as his own. He’d never experienced a more proud day than when Tranx called him buir. It felt surreal knowing that after his death, Verin’s prized beskad would pass down to his son. For the first time, Verin felt that he had a future in the afterlife.

“Come on, it’s best not to keep Torian waiting,” Keshal said, punching Verin’s chestplate playfully.  He let her walk ahead, then smacked her ass, beskar clacking against beskar. 

Keshal threw a challenging look over her shoulder, exaggerating the roll of her hips as she walked. “Not so fast,  _ al’verde _ .” She rubbed a circle over the spot Verin had struck, enunciating his new rank. “You’ll have to work  _ extra _ hard for this.”

Verin met his wife’s gaze with a lopsided smile that promised he’d do just that.

**Location Unknown** **  
** **-Veritable Hell-**

_ “I have always loved the stars. . . .” _

The conversation always started that way. Valkorion appeared when he wanted to show Fynta something she was missing, then vanished to let her think over what he’d revealed. As far as deaths went, this one was hell. Fynta heard blaster fire and inched towards it. Time moved lethargically here, setting her nerves on fire as her brain screamed for the normal flow of action.

Fynta’s afterlife was a rocky wasteland, but sometimes, it  _ did _ have a nice view of the stars. Icy blackness surrounded her most of the time, so cold that Fynta had to look down to make sure that her body was still there. A film covered her eyes, hazing the world around her, muting it to shadows. Unless, Valkorion had something spectacular that he wanted her to see.

_ “Your soldiers followed you beyond all reason,”  _ Valkorion continued, no more than a whisper in the wind. It appeared that today would be another  _ you are special, I am special, we should join forces and be special together _ , kind of chat. As expected, when Fynta followed the voice, she found her aliit, Havoc Squad, sprawled at her feet. 

Fynta walked down the line slowly, taking in each detail from the odd angles of their broken bodies to the blood soaked armor. She never wanted to forget their faces. A litany of curses spewed from her lips when Fynta reached Jorgan. A particularly painful death had been arranged for him this time. Still, she made herself look at her husband. As long as she had the strength, Fynta would fight the shabuir who haunted her steps. But, damn, she was tired.  

As if sensing a crack in Fynta’s resolve, Valkorion appeared as a barely perceivable figure by her side. “ _ Ah, yes _ .” He practically sighed with satisfaction as he gazed at Aric. “ _ The bitter survivor. The one you claim as your beloved _ .” 

It had been a slip of the tongue a long time ago, back when Fynta was less resigned to her fate. Valkorion had latched onto the confession and used it to torment her relentlessly. She grit her teeth to keep from being baited into losing her temper again. Valkorion always looked pleased with himself when she showed anger. 

“ _ Love is such a delicate thing _ .” Fynta cut her eyes at the Sith Emperor, suspicious of his sudden change of tactic. “ _ This, I understand all too well. When left alone, it will wither and die _ .”

“You don’t know Aric,” Fynta spat, then instantly regretted it when Valkorion smiled.

“No,” the former emperor whispered, his form becoming more solid than Fynta had ever seen it. “But, I know you, and our time is short. It is time for you to learn who  _ you _ really are.”

Searing pain burned through Fynta’s skull. She didn’t remember falling, but her cheek pressed against frigid rock nonetheless. Valkorion’s voice filled her mind, but she couldn’t understand the words. They washed over her as she stared into Aric’s brilliant, blue eyes. Then, darkness.

**Coruscant** **  
** **SpecForce Barracks**

Jorgan sprang forward in bed and grabbed his skull with both hands. It felt like it had been split open. He’d dreamt the same dream about Fynta for years, so long that they’d become almost comforting. But whatever  _ that _ had been.... He’d never heard a scream so tortured, and he had watched in horror as golden flames consumed his wife’s flesh. A lightsaber exploded from her chest, the shock of which had ejected Aric from the nightmare. 

“Everything okay, sir?” Kanner asked, hanging her head down from the top bunk. Light green tendrils followed, accompanied shortly by two, large black eyes. Both females blinked at Jorgan, and he shook his head. 

“Just a nightmare. Sorry to wake you.” Aric took a shaky breath and rubbed his eyes, only then realizing why the image before him seemed wrong. The Cathar heaved a sigh before glaring at his XO. “Kanner, why is Shillet in your bunk?”

Shillet, the malnourished little Nautolan girl they’d found on Null, had made a full recovery and been unofficially adopted by Havoc Squad. They’d put together a bank account in her name to pay for the best schools and training in whatever career she wanted to pursue. Jorgan tried desperately to dissuade the girl from joining the military, but she snuck into the barracks nearly every week. When Jorgan asked what she’d used to bribe the guard, her green lips parted in a feral grin. 

Kanner and Xaban enabled the girl, while Torg, Cormac, and Abbeth turned a blind eye to whatever mischief she got into, leaving Jorgan as the only voice of reason. Not even Elara provided much help when they were able to reach her. Shillet usually stayed in a boarding school on Coruscant, but she had a penchant for slipping off campus when she heard that Havoc was plantside.    
  
Elara’s brother, Aleksei, kept Tayl at home while she traveled, but often visited Shillet. It helped assuage some of Jorgan’s guilt about being away so much. Sometimes, Aleksei checked Havoc’s self made mascot out of school for the weekend in an attempt to give her some semblance of a normal childhood. As a matter of fact, that’s where Shillet was supposed to be now, not sleeping in the bunk above Jorgan in the SpecForce barracks.

Kanner swung down from her bunk, landing on the balls of her feet, and sat at the foot of Aric’s bed. “She showed up after curfew, I couldn’t just send her back out. So, I told her she could sleep with me.” The woman’s raspy voice carried a hint of amusement when turned brown eyes on the Nautolan. “For tonight only, right?” 

Shillet nodded so vigorously that the tendrils framing her face thumped against Jorgan’s head. He shoved them out of the way and pointed up. “Fine, then I expect you to be asleep in less than two minutes, or I’m calling Dorne.” Shillet yelped and vanished. The mattress squeaked as she situated her small body, then grew quiet. It always astounded Jorgan how Elara could evoke such terror in people without ever raising her voice.

“Sir,” Kanner began, voice barely louder than a whisper. “You’ve had these dreams for years. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped hiding them from us?” Her hand hovered over his arm before finally resting on it lightly.

Kanner was terrifyingly perceptive, just like another hard headed woman he’d known. Some days, it was a comfort, others, more painful. Tonight, he found her straightforward approach to be the thing he needed to loosen his tongue.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Jorgan sighed. “Dreams, yes. Not like this. This was something different.”

Kanner’s eyebrows pulled together, and Jorgan growled in frustration. The mattress shifted above them, and he shook his head. “Go back to bed. It’ll be fine in the morning.”

Kanner hesitated, then gave Jorgan’s arm a gentle squeeze before climbing back into the bunk with Shillet. Aric lay back and did his best not to consider everything that nightmare might have meant for Fynta. The dreams had been such a constant that he’d taken them for granted. A weight settled in his gut when he considered the implications. What if he’d just watched his wife die?

**Zakuul**

“Would you shut up, I’m trying not to die out here,” Koth growled as he weaved through the buildings below the Spire. Things had gone so well until that unplanned patrol ventured by. He’d been wrapped up in his argument with Lana about whether or not to shut down the reactor, that he hadn’t seen the danger until it was too late. They’d spotted his shuttle, and Koth had been forced to take evasive action. 

_ “Koth, where are you--” _ Lana cut off, and he pictured her lips pressed into a thin line when she continued.  _ “Is that blaster fire I hear?”  _ Koth switched her on mute until he got out of his current bind.

_ “Told ya, you should have brought me along,” _ Hirani quipped on Koth’s private line, and he wondered again how in the hell that woman had wheedled information out of him. He remembered of course, in vivid detail. But, a fantastic lay was no excuse to give the frustrating Twi’lek even more of a foothold in his life.

The shuttle shook, nearly wrenching Koth’s shoulders from their sockets. He spared one more glance back at the reactor to ensure that it had gone dark before allowing himself a steadying breath. Unfortunately, he’d breathed too soon. One of his pursuers scored a direct hit, and the shuttle angled into a steep dive. Koth gripped the steering column and said a quick prayer to whichever god would listen.

The landing had been rough, but as luck would have it, there was another shuttle not far away with Koth’s name on it. Of course, he needed to get through the waves of Skytroopers first. “Come on, HK, let’s get this done.” Koth kicked the door open, but paused to lift his personal comm closer to his lips so that Hirani could hear him over the noise of his ship tearing itself apart. “I’ve got to go, see you soon.”

_ “Be careful, Koth.” _ For once, his feisty Twi’lek didn’t sound like a smart ass, and that troubled Koth.

With the sun setting, the blackout would hopefully make getting to Lana and the Outlander easier. Koth reactivated the link to Lana and was met with what sounded like the middle of an interesting conversation between the two women.

_ “I took a calculated risk. It paid off.”  _ That was the infamous Fynta Wolfe, the woman Lana had spent years searching for. She’d just saved thousands of Koth’s people by doing whatever she’d done to thwart the overload that Valyin had started to flush out her prey. Naturally, Lana was displeased.   
  
_ “You engaged in an unsuccessful attempt to kill us both, is what you did,”  _ the Sith shot back. Koth chuckled. Five years searching for this woman, less than twenty minutes into her rescue, and they were bickering like an old, married couple. Lana must have heard him, and turned her ire towards him.  _ “Koth, where are you?”  _

  
Koth looked at the smoking pile of slag that used to be his shuttle and grimaced. “Ran into sort of a maintenance issue.” He motioned for HK to follow, and the droid instantly opened fire on the incoming hostiles.   
  
_ “How bad is it?” _ __  
__  
Koth believed in honest answers, even when they sucked. “It’s not great, but we’re on top of it,” he paused and glanced at HK. “Give us--three minutes?” The assassin droid nodded in agreement, then resumed firing. “Hang tight. Hope you’re not scared of the dark.” 

**Odessen**

Zolah sighed and opened her mouth to berate Theron for his incessant pacing, again, when Vector laid a hand on her arm. She swallowed her sarcasm and gestured in defeat. Vector was more qualified to deal with Theron in his current state. All Zolah wanted to do was shoot him in the knees so that she could silence the frustrating click of boots on the metal balcony.    
  
“Theron,” Vector called. He waited until the other man stopped to look over the railing at them. Vector tilted his head towards the uneaten rations spread over the table. “Come down and eat. Lana will alert us when the job is done.”   
  
Theron ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further, and clomped down the stairs. If Zolah didn’t know better, she’d say he was pouting. Theron flopped onto an overturned crate and snatched a ration bar. “We should be there.”   
  
“Alright,” Zolah snapped so suddenly that both men looked at her. “If I find something for you to do, will you stop moping?”   
  
A man in Mandalorian armor coughed as he carried a load of supplies past. Theron glared at his back until the man vanished, then at Zolah. “Thanks for that.”   
  
“It’s no more than you deserve,” Zolah answered, ignoring Vector’s silent plea to drop it. “Lana, Koth, and Fynta are all perfectly suited for this mission. Having you hover like an old schoolmarm would only make things more difficult.”   
  
Theron took a bite of his ration bar, chewing deliberately. Zolah sighed. “The War Council is set, and even should everything go as planned, it will take Lana three days to arrive here.” Theron swallowed, and Zolah saw his jaw relax in preparation to protest. She held up a hand to forestall his argument. “Fynta is suffering from carbon poisoning. I have an old ally on Alderaan who may be able to help. Doctor Lokin has worked on more complicated matters than a simple case of botched stasis. Why don’t you and Vector fetch him?”   
  
“We know this man,” Vector added with subdued enthusiasm. “He would be a valuable asset and great benefit for Commander Wolfe.”   
  
Theron looked between Vector and Zolah as if betrayed. Finally, he shoved to his feet. “Fine, but we’ll talk about that comment, eventually.”    
  
Zolah smiled sweetly. When Theron relied on dredging up past offenses, no matter how recent, she knew she’d won. “Of course, my love.” Zolah stood and kissed him gently on the lips, then bent to offer Vector the same. “You boys run along, fetch us a doctor, and have some fun.”   
  
“How exactly do you plan for us to  _ run along _ ?” Theron asked, crossing his arms in a way that made his jacket squeak around his shoulders.   
  
Zolah’s grin widened. “I have an acquaintance who has been itching for a chance to get offworld again. I’ll contact her while you pack.”   
  
Sensing that he had nothing left to bargain with, Theron threw his arms up and stalked towards their shared quarters. Vector stood, speaking while he watched Theron’s retreat. “Who will we be passengers of?”   
  
“Darth Nox,” Zolah answered, pleased that she’d managed to keep the cringe out of her voice. The Cathar had set her sights on Vector as another potential oddity to add to her collection. She had eyed Theron as well, but who didn’t?   
  
Vector turned towards Zolah, his fathomless black eyes unblinking, and one, thin eyebrow hitched upward. “Theron won’t like that.” She noted that her husband made no mention of his own feelings.    
  
Zolah wrapped her arms around Vector’s waist and smiled lovingly at him. “I suspect not, which is why I’m sending his closest friend.” She hoped that together, her boys could fend off Solish and her pet pirate’s advances. She didn’t voice this concern, of course. “The two of you haven’t had any time together in a while. It’ll be good for everyone.” Not to mention, their absence would allow Zolah to finish the preparations on Odessen without worrying about diplomacy, or Theron’s skewed vision of perfection, getting underfoot.   
  
Vector sighed and finally returned Zolah’s kiss. “Very well, but we won’t lie to Theron.” Without allowing her to answer, he strode in the same direction as their favorite spy, presumably to pack for the upcoming trip.    
  
Zolah waited until both men were out of sight, then turned her attention towards Doctor Oggurobb’s lab. He had yet to turn in his acquisitions list for her approval, and Zolah highly doubted that it had slipped his mind. “Now, where is that slug?”   
  


**Zakuul**

_ Five years.  _ __  
__  
Koth’s words echoed in Fynta’s ears as she stumbled into the wall of their battered shuttle. He yelled for someone to extinguish the fires springing up throughout the small vessel while Fynta tried not to empty the contents of her stomach. Someone swore, it might have been her, but when Fynta’s eyes cleared she stood before a freshly smothered blaze with the fire suppressant in her hands.    
  
Fynta dropped the now empty container and staggered to the bridge. Everything hurt. Her muscles screamed from disuse, and more than once Lana had needed to offer aid when Fynta’s cybernetic leg shut down. As best she could tell, the damn thing had suffered in the cryo and was stuck in a bootup loop. She’d get roughly ten minutes out of it before the whole thing gave out. It took sixty seconds for the circuitry to come back online. Not to mention, the uncomfortable jolt up her spine with each cycle.   
  
“Alright, hotshot,” Koth called over his shoulder. “Lana said you could fly. Take the reins, and I’ll see what I can do about our guests.”   
  
Pushing the pain aside, Fynta crawled over Koth’s lap as he slid from the pilot’s seat. She took comfort in the familiar feel of shuttle controls in her hands, and nudged the thrusters to maximum in an effort to shake their pursuers.    
  
“Oh, hell no,” Koth shouted. “Hold on!”   
  
The shuttle jarred so violently that Fynta banged her knees into the console. She muttered an oath that was lost in the wailing of alarms. Whatever that had been, it hit a lot of vital components of their transportation. Fynta’s arms shook with the force of keeping their nose from dipping as she angled out of the city. They’d barely made it over wilderness before one of the engines blew, and the shuttle rapidly lost altitude.   
  
“Fierfek,” Fynta ground out between clenched teeth. She hadn’t survived imprisonment and poison for five long years to be taken out like this. Banking hard, she shouted a warning to her companions. They were going in fast and hot, Fynta just hoped the densely packed jungle would cover their landing enough to make an escape. She had an emperor to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> beskad [BESS-kahd] slightly curved saber of Mandalorian iron)  
> kad [kahd] saber, sword  
> alor'ad [al-OHR-ahd] captain  
> manda [MAHN-dah] the collective soul or heaven  
> ne'tra gal [NAY-trah gahl] black ale - sweet, almost spicy black beer similar to milk stout  
> The verd'goten was the name of the traditional rite of passage in Mandalorian culture in which a Mandalorian youth was accepted as an adult.  
> di'kut [DEE-koot] idiot  
> buir [boo-EER] father  
> al'verde [AHL-vair-day] commander  
> shabuir [SHAH-boo-EER] extreme insult


	8. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to move faster as the Outlander and crew try to stay one step ahead of Arcann.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline gets a little wibbly wobbly here, for....reasons. 
> 
> The title came from the song Repercussions by Bea Miller (it was stuck in my head while I wrote this chapter)

**Zakuul  
** **The Endless Swamp**

Lana stumbled from the wreckage and onto ground that squelched beneath her boots. Her ears rang from striking her skull against the bulkhead, but steadfast will kept the Sith on her feet. Acrid smoke filled her nose, tickling the back of her throat until she succumbed to a coughing fit.

“Fynta?” Lana rasped from behind the hazy curtain of burning electronics. She searched the immediate vicinity for the woman that they’d crossed a galaxy to rescue. Noxious fumes burned her eyes, blurring her vision while she searched. Though the commander’s wit had been sharp as ever, Lana worried about her physical state. Fynta had looked pale, weak even. Where once Lana had seen an iron will in her dark blue eyes, now, they were clouded and weary.

“Here,” Fynta coughed. Lana circled the wreckage to find the woman on her knees, retching into a pool of stagnant water. _Thank the Force_ , Lana thought, moving closer. She paused a respectful distance away, sure that the proud Mandalorian wouldn’t appreciate an offer of assistance.

Though it was a relief to find Fynta alive, the vomiting concerned Lana. There was little but bile in Fynta’s stomach, driving home the need for solid food. Lana couldn’t be sure if the sickness was due to a concussion, the strain of coming out of cryo without being prepped first, or simply the expulsion of toxins that had collected in her system over the years.

A string of curses drifted from the other side of the shuttle, and Lana heard the distinct sound of a boot striking metal as Koth violently lamented losing another ship. A single look at Fynta was enough for Lana to know that the major wasn’t prepared to face a stranger. She would need to run interference for the time being.

“You didn’t even own this one,” Lana called to the man as she rounded the crumpled nose of their shuttle. Placing her body between Koth and Fynta, she crossed her arms and carried on as if nothing were amiss. “It really shouldn’t count.”

“It was mine when it crashed. It counts,” Koth argued, eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to snap off an insult, then shut it abruptly when Fynta swore. Leaning around Lana, Koth’s brows furrowed. “You still alive, Outlander?”

Fynta staggered into view, wiping her mouth with the back of a hand. “I’ll get back to you on that. What’s our status?” Koth smirked, and Lana breathed a sigh of relief that the woman sounded like herself.

“Explanation: We have crashed into the Endless Swamp,” HK provided helpfully. “One hundred and forty-seven parsecs from our intended location.”

“Thanks for that, HK,” Koth snorted. With hands on hips, the man surveyed their surroundings with disgust. “Let’s get to covering our tracks. Then, we can see about finding a way out of here.”

Koth gave Lana a meaningful look, and she turned her attention back to Fynta. “Commander, why don’t you and HK search for anything useful? We’ll join you momentarily.” She offered a polite smile, intentionally ignoring the way Fynta lurched to the left and steadied herself on a chunk of metal.

“Sure thing,” Fynta answered in a hollow tone. “I’d rig the shuttle to blow, by the way. Take out as many of those shabuir as you can.” She waited a few more seconds, then motioned to HK as she took a careful step towards him. “Got anything I can borrow?”

The assassin droid made a delighted exclamation, then removed one of the many rifles attached to his person. Fynta examined the weapon with the scrutiny of a soldier, checking the charge pack and looking down the sight. “Not bad, HK. Come on. These two need some privacy.” Lana watched them disappear into the heavy foliage, still chatting about the make and model of the particular blaster Fynta had borrowed. When Lana turned back to Koth, the man’s lips were pressed together in an expression that she’d seen too many times before.

“I know that look,” Lana admonished. “Rigging the shuttle is a good idea.”

“Not saying it isn’t,” Koth responded. His dark eyes bored into Lana’s with an intensity that she’d seen in few other individuals. Koth had no fear of Sith, Jedi, or Knight. His immersion in a society so choked by Force-users allowed him to see through her guise. “Something’s off with your Outlander. She seems rattled.”

Lana avoided Koth’s gaze as she set to work on Fynta’s suggestion. “I didn’t anticipate the havoc that cryofreezing would play on the circuitry in her leg,” she admitted. “I don’t know enough about the technology to attempt repairs. We’ll just have to deal with it for the time being.”

Koth pulled a remote detonator out of his pack, and Lana grimaced at how badly things could have gone had that bag been near one of the fires. “She took the revelation of being out for five years pretty well,” he remarked with forced casualness. In truth, Lana found Fynta’s behavior disturbing as well. She’d offered few commands, and had only argued with Lana once about the reactor explosion, then resorted to muttered curses.   

“We all handle things in our own way,” Lana replied finally. “Give her time.”

Koth nodded, then let the subject drop. Meanwhile, Lana hoped that it was simply shock that had their Outlander, the only hope left for this ravaged galaxy, so off-kilter.

**Alderaan  
** **Thul Territory**

A tremor ran the length of Theron’s body. Vector glanced in his direction, which only intensified the discomfort. “Yeah, okay, he got under my skin.”

Vector chuckled softly. “We believe that was his intention,” the Joiner paused to slide solid eyes in Theron’s direction. “Among other things.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Theron groused. He’d spent the majority of their trip hiding in the room that Darth Nox had offered to him and Vector. The Berserker was a nice ship with all the luxuries of the Sith Empire, but Theron had seen none of it.

They had been in hyperspace less than an hour before the innuendos began. Solish instigated the banter by making a pass at Vector. Theron had _thought_ he was going to his friend’s aid until the Cathar turned her attention towards him. Then, Andronikos joined in, and Theron turned tail for a hasty retreat. Solish’s pet pirate had used words that Theron would have never considered in that context. His entire understanding of Basic vocabulary felt violated.

With another shiver, Theron pulled himself back to the present. “I’m just happy to be away from that ship. We should consider finding other means of travel on the way home.”

“The Alliance is short on funds, unless you planned to steal a shuttle?” Vector lifted a challenging eyebrow, reducing Theron to muttering.

A shadow passed overhead, and Theron scowled at the advanced weapon orbiting the planet. The people of Alderaan suffered under the oppression of a Star Fortress, one of many that Arcann had placed around planets that he deemed significant. Even Nar Shaddaa had one. Theron wouldn’t steal from Alderaan’s inhabitants, they’d lost enough. Unless…. “Only if it belongs to a person of ill repute.” Surely there was a criminal at the spaceport that he and Vector could relieve of transportation, right?

Theron’s chrono chimed, and he nearly dropped the device trying to fish it out of his pocket. Vector pulled the hovercar off the main road so that he could focus on the conversation. Having finally retrieved his comm, Theron punched the accept button a little too hard.

Lana appeared in miniature, her expression haggard. _“I haven’t much time,”_ she clipped, then glanced over her shoulder. The Sith rolled her eyes at whomever stood at her back, then shook her head before continuing. _“We’ve retrieved the commander and taken refuge in—a truly remarkable ship. We’ve also picked up a new ally.”_ Theron opened his mouth, but Lana cut him off with an upraised hand. _“I’ll explain later. Hopefully, we can make it to the base, but judging by the amount of swearing echoing from the bridge, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”_

“How’s Fynta?” Theron had to get the words out before he burst. He’d been waiting for this call all day, and had driven Zolah to grounding him off planet. _Fynta is alive. I kriffing knew it._ That damn woman could survive anything.

 _“Uncomfortable, but alive. Perhaps a bit crabby,”_ Lana answered. Theron allowed relief wash over him. _“There is—something else, though.”_ Lana’s eyebrows pulled together, then she shook her head. _“I can’t discuss it over holo. We’ll have to talk face to face. Have you retrieved Doctor Lokin yet?”_

“We are en route,” Vector responded from the driver’s seat. “He has sequestered himself in the mountains. We were only able to obtain general coordinates.”

Blaster fire echoed from the background, and Lana rubbed her temples. _“Blast it all. HK has stirred up another nest. I really must go before he depressurizes us in hyperspace, I’ll check in when I can. Beniko out.”_

“Lana, wait.” The image flickered, then went dark. Theron stared at the empty device in his hand, unsure of what he felt. Fynta was alive, but—but what? Ill? Injured? Deranged? _She can’t be worse than normal_ , Theron thought darkly.

Vector straightened in his seat and started the car again. “She’s alive, Theron.” The Joiner patted Theron’s leg before putting the vehicle into gear. The motion was friendly, and Theron had stopped jumping at the Joiner’s touch a long time ago. Vector was an affectionate man, something Theron struggled to understand, but tolerated for the sake of their friendship.

Theron left Vector to navigate, trusting the man’s connection with the local Killik hive to guide them toward the doctor who was supposed to cure Fynta’s ailment once and for all. As the landscape changed from rolling forest to steep mountain passes, Theron replayed the brief conversation with Lana in his head. Her reluctance to speak of Fynta’s wellbeing troubled him. Something had clearly unnerved the normally calm Sith, and not in the normal annoying Fynta way. Theron swallowed the wave of queasiness that threatened to close his throat; he hoped they hadn’t been too late.

**The Gravestone  
** **En Route to Asylum**

_A large slab of metal slammed into the ground next to Fynta, burying itself in the soil. It stood at least nine meters high. More joined it, forming a wall to cut her off from the Gravestone._

_Lana dueled with a Knight less than fifty paces to Fynta’s right, but she couldn’t reach her. The Sith turned, shouting for Fynta to flee as her weapon was ripped from her grasp. They were surrounded on all sides, she and Lana too far apart for Fynta to offer aid. Within seconds, the Sith would be dead._

_Then, time stopped._

_A curse rolled lazily through Fynta’s mind when Valkorion appeared with that thrice-damned smirk. A wave of panic washed over her. Had her rescue been another elaborate ruse by the former Emperor? Was Fynta’s dying mind still frozen in Arcann’s vault, grasping at strands of hope that slipped through numbed fingers?_

_“What is this?” Fynta demanded. Something was different; she was still sore. Fynta clung to that pain like a lifeline. She hadn’t hurt in Valkorion’s hell._

_“An opportunity,” Valkorion answered. Fynta hated his deep, regal voice. He waved a hand towards Lana, somehow magnifying the situation. “You are outmatched. Death is all but certain for your Sith friend. I could save her.” He walked closer to Lana and examined the two combatants with an air of boredom, before looked back at Fynta. “I only require the briefest moment of control. Accept my help, or watch her die. Choose quickly.”_

_The Knight’s blade inched closer to Lana. Fynta tried to step forward to intercept, but her feet moved sluggishly. There wasn’t enough time, and Fynta couldn’t repay the woman who had risked everything to pull her shebs out of Arcann’s trophy room by letting her die. Gritting her teeth, Fynta made the call. “Take care of it.”_

_Valkorion’s satisfied smile grated on Fynta’s nerves as much as his voice when he answered. “Gladly.”_

_Fynta’s body roared to life. Her blood boiled, euphoria and torture swirling into one. Power surged through her, beginning in her core and flowing outward. Most importantly, she remained in control. Fynta could stop if she wanted to. Her hands were still her own; her mind clear and focused. But, why in the hell would she want to stop this? It was the biggest rush she’d ever felt._

_Somehow, Fynta understood the changes taking place in her body. When she’d built up enough, she threw her hands out, and a surge of energy traveled through her chest and down her arms in a slow wave, then leapt from her fingertips. The destruction was glorious. The metal wall exploded in a shower of shrapnel that struck her enemies, but not Lana or Senya._

_When it was over, time snapped back with the sting of a whip, everything thrown into sharp focus. The noise of battle overwhelmed Fynta’s senses. Body sagging in exhaustion, she smiled at the angry Sith. Lana was alive; that was all that mattered._

Fynta’s eyes itched, waking her from the memory. The throbbing in her left hip jolted her to full consciousness, though the dream lingered in her mind. The desire to feel Valkorion’s power again disturbed Fynta, and she batted it away with a snarl. Even more irritating had been Lana’s annoyance that she’d allowed Valkorion control. They’d both seen what he was capable of on Ziost, and Fynta deserved Lana’s anger. Shab, imagine what he could do with a Force user? The thought chilled her to the bone.

Sitting up, Fynta ran a hand along the smooth, grey walls of the Gravestone and marveled at its engineering. The massive ship shouldn’t be capable of flight, not after decades of disrepair and being half buried in muck. Koth truly was a brilliant mechanic, and the combined Force strength of both Senya and Lana when they loosened the ship from the muck had been enough to curl fear in Fynta’s stomach, but still... That fear hadn’t been enough to keep her from crashing as soon as Koth announced that they’d entered hyperspace.

Fynta swung her legs over the metal frame built into the wall and pressed her palms against her eyes. When she pulled them away, she stared at her hands. Had all of that power really come from inside of her? Or was she delusional from the carbon poisoning? Fynta replayed the images again, sure that she’d made the right call, yet feeling guilty all the same. Skytroopers and Knights had arrived before Koth could finish repairs, and they’d been overwhelmed. A shiver ran up Fynta’s spine at the realization that she’d freely given her body over to the Emperor.

“It won’t happen again,” Fynta growled into the silence. Valkorion chuckled in the back of her mind.

Fynta pushed to her feet and headed to the bridge. Her leg didn’t work at first, and she muttered a curse while pounding a fist against it. The cybernetics had done this in the middle of the firefight as well, nearly getting her flattened by a walker. Wailing on the blasted prosthetic had been the only thing that got it moving again. It worked this time too, and Fynta ignored the sharp pain each blow sent up her spine in favor of being able to walk.

A gleam of silver caught Fynta’s attention, and she stopped to scowl at her chest plate. It hadn’t fared too well during her five years as a frozen ornament either. Chunks of beskar had littered the ground with each shot that struck her. Soon, it would be of no more use than a thin layer of durasteel. Still, her options were few, so she snapped the brittle plates back into place and started for the bridge.

Fynta nodded to various exiles as she picked her way through the ship. Apparently, the young emperor dealt out justice against naysayers by driving them into the wilderness to be eaten by the local wildlife, or to die from infection. Fynta had offered them a safe haven aboard the ship, and they’d taken to cleaning and performing whatever maintenance Koth would allow by way of thanks. Fynta didn’t complain. The Gravestone needed a lot of TLC.

When Fynta rounded the corner, she heard the rest of the crew’s voices echoing down the passageway. She paused to listen, trying to decide if retiring back to her bunk would be better than facing the squabbling that lay ahead. Koth still wasn’t happy with the newest addition to their small team. Senya Tirall was a former Knight, apparently the same one who’d hunted Koth’s crew after they went AWOL. Needless to say, bad blood existed between them.

Personally, Fynta didn’t care who she was. Senya had killed her fellow knights, which was proof enough of her resolve for Fynta. Granted, Koth had a legitimate grief that Lana hadn’t bothered to warn him that his arch enemy was on her way. Fynta grinned, at least the Sith hadn’t changed that much over the years. Koth and Theron would have plenty to gripe about.

Deciding that she wasn’t ready to mediate that mess, Fynta turned on her heel and headed back down the corridor. She caught HK-55 in the hallway and paused when it became obvious that he wanted a word. Fynta liked the droid, and took the opportunity to compliment his new personality matrix. He was a lot more opinionated than Cinlat’s old 51 model.

Briefly, Fynta wondered what had become of that droid, and whether or not Verin had ever made good on his threat to scrap it. A thought tickled the back of Fynta’s mind, but it vanished just as quickly. Verin wouldn’t have kept their secret comlink open after all of these years. He’d have accepted her death and moved on.

“Query: Has the meatbag bickering finally exhausted itself?” HK’s head tipped to the side as he cradled a massive rifle in his arms. That one seemed to be the droid’s favorite, and Fynta couldn’t fault his taste.

Chuckling, Fynta leaned against the wall. “If there is one thing meatbags never tire of, it’s bickering.”

HK nodded, his vocal tones inflecting a robotic laugh before returning to business. “Report: I’ve taken the liberty of checking on your band of refugees. Assessment: They have quickly taken to their new lodging arrangements. I have warned them not to stray from their chosen location.” Fynta tipped her head for his benefit and waved a hand for him to continue. Which HK did happily. The droid liked the sound of his own voice, and it didn’t grate on Fynta’s nerves the way that the C2 models had.

“Analysis: There are many sealed passageways, and I am unable to detect what may be on the other side.” Fynta sighed at the ominous implications and chose to believe that they’d simply been sealed by centuries of rust. For a ship that was supposed to be powerful enough to destroy the Eternal Fleet, it had sure been neglected for a long time.

Pushing away from the wall, Fynta nodded. “Good work, HK. That’ll be worth looking into at some point.” She’d already stumbled across a strange place deep in the ship that radiated with Dark Side energy. She’d hallucinated Valkorion, Vitiate, whatever the hell his name was now. He’d spoken of a grand scheme to supplant his son, and Fynta told him to shove it up his shebs. It infuriated her that he found her threats amusing.

Fynta and HK parted ways. Apart from the sound of the hydraulic pistons in his legs, the droid moved along silently. Fynta listened until he vanished, caught up in her own thoughts.

 _“Approaching Asylum.”_ Lana’s voice echoed over the ship’s comm system, pulling Fynta’s attention around. She knew a polite summons when she heard one. The Gravestone shuddered violently, and Fynta’s left leg gave out, staggering her into the wall. The cybernetics clicked back on a second later, and Fynta vowed to get the shabbing thing looked at as soon as they landed.

According to Lana, Asylum was a safe haven for people who wanted to stay off Arcann’s radar. Fynta bet they had a little bit of everything there, maybe like Nar Shaddaa, and hoped that included someone who knew how to reset her fierfeking leg. She was useless in her current state.

“Told you we’d make it,” Koth smirked as Fynta joined the small crew on the bridge.

“We haven’t docked yet,” Lana replied, arms folded over her chest, but definitely looking like a woman who’d lost a fair number of credits on a bad bet.

Koth’s smug expression vanished as he turned back to the console and leaned forward to study the controls. “Right, I should probably figure out how to land this thing.”

Fynta casually gripped the back of the copilot’s seat, ret’lini.

**Havoc Squad  
** **Coruscant**

Jorgan sat in the briefing room alongside a small group of Republic military leaders. Absently, he fingered the chain around his neck, the one that Fynta had given him before stepping off the Thunderclap five years ago. He barely noticed the white jewel’s weight anymore, but the memento comforted him during the long nights, and even longer briefings. It was the only thing that the army hadn’t threatened to take from him if he didn’t fall in line. Mostly, because they didn’t know its worth.

Commander Malcom had taken over the job of tasking his commandos personally. It ensured that everyone followed protocol, and had cut down on the number of desertions blamed on bad intel. Malcom inspired loyalty, whereas the current Chancellor garnered nothing but disdain.

As for Jorgan, he simply existed, doing what he’d always done.

Elara stood in the corner, jotting down notes while occasionally glancing in Jorgan’s direction with a tight smile. He missed having her around. The medic’s steadfast approach to life had always been the perfect counterbalance to the antics of the other Havoc members. Now, he was surrounded by much younger squad mates who found chaos equally as entertaining as Fynta had.

Kanner sat to Jorgan’s right, tapping out the minutes of the briefing on her datapad. She’d be the one delivering them to the rest of Havoc when they reached the ship, a task that Jorgan sometimes missed. Kanner chewed on the end of her stylus, then pointed it at the projection of Alderaan. She muttered under her breath, then began typing again. To Jorgan, this meeting was no different than the dozens he’d been in before. He wondered if there was anyone that Cormac wanted to see while they were on his home planet. Surely, they could find the time.  

“Zakuul’s got its hands full at the moment, so this is a prime time to strike at one of the Empire’s head Sith,” Malcom continued. Jorgan suppressed a sigh. The Senate still believed that the Sith were a major threat despite being beaten into submission harder than the Republic. Arcann had punished them severely for standing against him. They’d wised up when Acina took the throne, but Jorgan admired their refusal to submit.

Kanner raised a hand, still staring at the image. She waited until the commander acknowledged her before speaking, and Jorgan leaned back in his chair to listen. Kanner rarely asked foolish questions, and she’d never been cautious about their possible, political ramifications. “Sir, why does Zakuul have their hands full?”

As usual, it was a damn good question, one that Jorgan berated himself for not considering beforehand. Malcom folded massive arms over his chest, eyeing Kanner with a mixture of respect and irritation. “Our intelligence agents on the planet say that there was a disturbance. A prisoner escaped and knocked out half the power grid. They're calling them ‘The Outlander’.” Jorgan felt his brow raise, and more than one of the soldiers sitting around the table leaned over to speak in hushed tones amongst themselves.

Malcom spoke over them, his gravelly voice cutting through the chatter. “We’re working on gathering more information, but several knights were killed, and a lot of Skytroopers destroyed.”

“Shouldn’t we press that advantage, sir?” Kanner asked. “If Zakuul is in disarray, it seems like a good time to attack.”

Malcomb leaned forward, placing his palms on the table, and looked Kanner in the eye. “Now, you listen to me, Captain. Havoc Squad is going to Alderaan, and you’re going to take out this Sith. Am I understood?”  

Kanner nodded, then glanced in Jorgan’s direction. He ignored her. They’d heard rumor of the Outlander last week from Balkar; Kanner just wanted confirmation. Thanks to Cormac, the rest of the squad believed that this new thorn in Arcann’s ass had to be Fynta. Jorgan pointed out that if it had been their long-lost major, she would have made contact by now. Havoc Squad wasn’t exactly in hiding, not from the people in Fynta’s circles, at least.  

Jorgan and Kanner returned to their standard small transport after the meeting concluded. The ship wasn’t as fancy or as comfortable as the Thunderclap, but it had enough space for everyone. Instead of rooms or bunks, the shuttle had six alcoves, complete with a single occupant bed, two shelves, and a footlocker. Fynta’s helmet sat on one of the shelves in Jorgan’s nook, while the other was occupied with all manner of mission-critical supplies.  

Cormac met them at the airlock with a full grin. Jorgan eyed the big man as he skirted the wall. “It’s her, boss. It’s got to be.”

Jorgan sighed and wondered if Torg had hacked his comm again, or if Elara had given Cormac a head’s up. Balic had never given up on Fynta. While Jorgan wouldn’t admit it out loud, existing had become easier than hoping. He’d acknowledged the inevitable. His wife was gone, and the sooner he accepted it, the sooner he could settle into the rest of his life as a widower.

“Come on, boss. You know that’s her style.” Cormac trailed Jorgan through the ship. He lowered his voice and put a hand on Jorgan’s shoulder to pull him to a stop. “I’m telling you, Aric. Fynta is alive. We’re close.”

“Then why hasn’t she called?” Jorgan snapped, wheeling to face the man.  

Cormac’s expression fell, and Jorgan ran a hand down his face. The Cathar sighed and patted his friend’s shoulder. A diversion would be the best course for now. “Sorry. Look, go help Kanner get the ship ready for orbit. We need to figure out how to infiltrate Alderaan.” Cormac took a hesitant step away from Jorgan, paused, then retreated without another word.

Given the blockade, most high-value squads had taken to sitting in orbit around Coruscant’s mirrored moon. They were easier to mobilize on short notice that way, and it kept the Republic’s military specialists from being lured into the same place. It was a difficult way to live, especially in a ship half the size of Thunderclap.  

Tossing his belt and weapons onto his bed, Jorgan sighed. He needed to find something to occupy his time before he began accepting Cormac’s theory. If Fynta were dead, then that was it, life would continue. However, if she was still alive, out there fighting while he sat in his bunk…

 _Five years_ , Jorgan thought.

No, Fynta would have contacted him by now. She was gone.

**Asylum  
** **The Free Zone**

Lana sighed, switching her attention between Zolah and Theron. “Cipher, please explain to Theron the meaning of _mission security_. I’m not sure that’s something they covered in the SIS.” Theron narrowed his eyes as Zolah smirked and looked away to hide her amusement. Their projections stood side by side, one on his way home from Alderaan, the other on Odessen.

The man had been an absolute nightmare, wanting more information about Lana’s cryptic message. Lana had no idea how he expected her to reveal that the Sith Emperor now resided in the mind of the one woman they all believed capable of rallying an army against Arcann in simple code.

A chill crept up the Sith’s spine at the memory of the ground trembling beneath her feet before being flung to the side as if she were nothing. That much power, in the hands of a woman as volatile as Fynta Wolfe, could be either their salvation, or their doom.

Lana wondered if she’d have been as keen to release the major if she had known about her connection to Vitiate beforehand. Lana still didn’t have an answer, and planned to keep a shrewd eye on their new commander’s behavior. Naturally, Fynta didn’t know she was the new commander just yet, but she would in time. There really was no need to bother her with it at the moment.

“I’ll comm you before we leave, but I’m not sure how long it will take to make repairs,” Lana continued, ignoring Theron’s muttering. “Beniko out.” She considered calling Notiac next, but decided against it for the time being.

Switching off the device, Lana made her way back to the Gravestone. It was a massive eyesore from outside, and while the inside looked better thanks to the efforts of their expanded crew, there were still many areas sealed off. She’d get HK to begin a sweep when he returned with Fynta, which shouldn’t be long. According to Koth, she’d gone in search of his prized engineer, a woman that Lana considered migraine inducing.

Lana found Koth, or rather his legs, sticking out from under the steering console. He waved a hand for the screwdriver just out of reach, and Lana obliged without comment. “Thanks.” While Force-blind, Koth remained vigilant of his surroundings; it was one of the reasons Lana trusted him. “So, you’re Outlander seems to be wound pretty tight.”

“Can you blame her?” Lana commented, leaning against the device Koth tinkered with. The man slid out from under it, grease smeared under one eye. “After all, she’s just woken to learn that the galaxy is in worse shape than she left it, she’s recovering from carbon-poisoning, her leg doesn’t work properly, and she’s lost her husband.”

“Husband?” Koth asked, thick brows furrowing. “I didn’t realize she was married.”

Lana bit back a smile. “Indeed, and he’s a Cathar. Feel free to ask your female crew mate how the males feel about their lifemates.”

“Pass,” Koth replied in a dry tone before vanishing under the console again. “What’s that about her leg?”

“She lost it on Corellia, in battle many years ago,” Lana explained, sighing when he held his hand out for the same damn screwdriver again. “Her left leg is cybernetic from the hip down, and I believe it was damaged by the freezing process. She mentioned looking for a tech while on Asylum. I have no doubt that she’ll find one.”

Whatever Koth’s response might have been, it was drowned out by the robust laughter of Tora, the engineer Fynta had gone after. Lana rubbed her temples, and Koth reappeared with a grin. “Well, looks like she came through. In here, Tora!”

“Hey, Sith lady, what’s your girl like to drink? I owe her a bottle of something.” The tiny woman with flamboyant blue hair tossed a couple of boxes at Koth’s feet. “Here’s your parts.”

Koth pawed through them while casting a wary eye at the woman. “Wait, you’re going to buy the Outlander a drink, with your own money?” Tora’s head bobbed while she grinned. “I’ve got to hear about this.”

“There I was, hostage of this ugly Weequay and his boys, when the Outlander and HK made the mother of all entrances. Blew the kriffing doors right off the hinges.” Tora waved her arms to implicate the velocity of the items in question. “The big guy grabbed me and put a blaster to my head. I swear, I think he knew her or something, because he shouted a greeting instead of a threat.” Lana’s interest peaked, who could possibly recognize Fynta out here? Asylum had always been safe from Arcann’s spies before. Had they been compromised already?

“Guess I’ll never know for sure, though,” Tora mused. “She put two bolts between his eyes before he had the chance to say much else, and the rest of his crew scattered before his body hit the floor.” Tora snorted another obnoxious laugh, and some of the tension eased out of Lana. If the Weequay was dead, then he was no longer a threat. “I took a holo, wanna’ see it?”

Koth and Lana answered with an emphatic no as Tora reached for the device on her belt. “You people are no fun,” she grumbled, then snatched up the box of parts and stomped down the hall towards the hyperdrive room.  

Koth raised an eyebrow at Lana, and she bristled. “So, she’s a bit decisive. That’s what we need.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Koth protested, and Lana relaxed a modicum until he inhaled. “But, if I were—”

“Uh, boss.” Koth and Lana turned to find Len hanging around the corner. With a quick glance between the two, the large man fully entered the bridge, followed by a twitching HK. “Found him wandering around with no memory of where he’s been. Memory circuits are fried.”

Rage rolled through Lana. HK was supposed to be with Fynta, ensuring that their new commander remained out of harm’s way. She took two steps forward, but stopped when Koth grabbed her arm. “Senya.”

Lana narrowed her eyes, cursing herself for letting Fynta out of her sight. No one could find trouble like that woman, what had she been thinking? Neither answered their comm when she rang them. Turning her fury on Len, Lana’s next words came out as a growl. “Give me his last known coordinates.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ret'lini. [Rayt-LEE-nee] just in case


	9. The Outlander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Outlander makes her mark, forcing the galaxy to take notice. Meanwhile, Fynta is an uncooperative patient, and Theron plots revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue is a bit on the nose, but necessary for the amount of skipping around I'm doing.

**Coruscant  
****Residential Sector  
****Apartment 7865**  

“Tayl, Shillet, stop running this instant, or it’s straight to bed.” Elara had warned them twice already, yet their thunderous game continued to distract her from the newest reports from Commander Malcom’s office. The children slowed long enough to tiptoe past her office, before pounding down the hallway again.  

Elara sighed, then returned her attention to the comm. “Balic, stop sniggering. You’re as bad as they are.” 

 _“Come on, they’re just happy to see one another. How long is Shillet staying?”_ Balic lounged in his bunk, grin plastered across his handsome features. Even so, Elara couldn’t find it in herself to be wooed. 

“Would you like to come down here and take over their rearing?” Elara responded, regretting it the moment that Balic’s face fell. She knew there was nothing more that her husband desired than to be with his family. He wanted to watch his son grow, teach him how to be a man. And Shillet, she’d been adopted by the squad. There wasn’t a soldier aboard that shuttle who wouldn’t take Elara’s place in a moment. 

Guilt swept through Elara. “I’m sorry, Balic, that was unworthy of me.” 

 _“It’s alright, doll. You’re doing great.”_ Cormac smiled, lifting her spirits as he had so many times before. _“So, you’ve got them both all weekend? Is Aleksei helping?”_  

“He is,” Elara answered. She tried to have the young Nautolan stay the night as often as possible. She and Tayl always played well together, and they really weren’t that much of a bother. Shillet deserved a family after what she’d been through, something more tangible than lonely weekends at a boarding school. 

As if summoned, Elara’s brother appeared in the doorway. “Tell Balic hello,” he called in passing, heading towards the kitchen to round the children up for dinner. Balic waved, though Aleksei had already departed, and turned his attention back to the comm. 

 _“Jorgan thinks he’s found an excuse for Xaban and me to come down to the surface tonight. We ship out for Alderaan in the morning, but,”_ Cormac broke off and wiggled his eyebrows. His smile grew when Elara laughed. _“I’ve got to be back before 0500, but we’d have the night. I’m just waiting for clearance,”_ Balic continued, and Elara found her heart quickening with anticipation. They hadn’t shared a bed for so long that the mere thought made her light-headed.  

Elara met her husband’s gaze. “I’ll let the kids stay up until you arrive. Tayl will be so excited, and I’m sure Shillet would like an update on the rest of the squad.”   

Balic sat up with a start and nodded to someone out of view. When he returned, new enthusiasm entered his voice. _“Just got my orders, doll. I’ll see you in an hour.”_ He paused, hand hovering over the disconnect button. _“Don’t tell the kids, I want to surprise them.”_  

The signal cut before Elara could assure her husband that she’d keep his secret. A task easier said, than done. When she looked up, Shillet stood in the doorway. “Let’s keep this between us, shall we?” 

“Will Aric be coming too?” Shillet asked, creeping further into Elara’s office. 

“No, my sweet. But, I’m sure he’ll call as soon as he can.” The young Nautolan nodded, though Elara saw the disappointment in her expression. For all her bluster, Shillet never let on when she was truly upset. At least, not to anyone other than Jorgan. “Will you help Aleksei with dinner? You remember what happened the last time he cooked, right?” 

Shillet rolled her eyes. “I thought Imps were supposed to be sophisticated. How did he survive on his own?” 

Elara smiled. “He called on his big sister for aid.” Shillet flashed a sharp grin, then vanished through the door. As Elara leaned back in her chair, the excitement that she’d held off washed over her. She looked at the scattered datapads with new eyes. “One hour,” she murmured. “That should be just enough time.”   

 **The Gravestone  
****Medbay**  

 _“My son is too strong. You need my power. Only together can we strike him down.”_  

 _Fynta’s fingers tightened around her weapon. “When Arcann’s done, you’re next.” The distraction slowed Fynta’s reactions, and she squeezed the trigger a fraction too late. Her body snapped forward, then fire consumed everything._  

 _Arcann appeared in front of Fynta, instead of several meters away. His left hand wrapped around her neck, while his right pressed into her stomach. Immense pressure engulfed her, the burning started in her middle and rolled in waves of anguish towards her limbs. Fynta couldn’t tell if she was breathing anymore. Hot pain encompassed everything. Logic, reason, emotion; they all slipped through her grasp like water._  

When Fynta opened her eyes, for one terrifying second, all she could feel was the desire to cry. The medbay bore a striking resemblance to the one she’d woken in after Darth Marr’s ship blew up, back when this nightmare began. Then, she saw Lana, and the moment passed in a wash of recognition. 

“Easy, easy,” the Sith encouraged, sliding a hand under Fynta’s shoulders as pushed herself into a sitting position. She’d always heard that a lightsaber cauterized a wound in such a way that there wasn’t pain. Fynta now knew that to be complete osik. This agony was every broken rib, punctured lung, concussion, and blaster wound rolled into one searing reminder.

“Your body went through quite an ordeal,” Lana continued. “We weren’t sure you’d ever wake up.” 

 _Oh, shab._ Every cell in Fynta’s body tingled as cold dread embraced her. “Please don’t tell me it’s been another five years.” 

Lana chuckled, though it sounded forced. “Two days, give or take a few hours.” 

Relief flooded through Fynta. Glancing down, she realized that she wore her bodysuit. The thing no doubt smelled awful, but given they’d all gone nearly a week without proper showers, she doubted anyone noticed. Bathing would be her first priority whenever they reached Lana’s secret base, water scalding hot, and at least an hour long. 

Koth stood by a shelf, examining Fynta’s chest piece with a frown. “I’ve never met anybody who took a lightsaber to the gut and lived.” He held it up and peeked through the perfect circle. “I never knew that Valkorion was so powerful.” The scene was familiar somehow, but Fynta’s groggy mind couldn’t parse out why. She’d figure it out later. 

“We’re not starting that again,” Lana huffed, glaring over her shoulder at Koth. 

Fynta changed the subject to avoid another awkward argument about who knew the Sith Emperor better. She didn’t have it in her today. “Carbon freezing must have corrupted the beskar, that shouldn’t have happened.” Koth tore his eyes from the plate with an incredulous stare. 

Fynta sighed, surprised that it didn’t send a spike of pain through her abdomen, as if it had been the memory of agony that woke her, instead of actual sensation. Now, only mild soreness lingered as a reminder that she’d been impaled. _I saved you, remember that_ , Valkorion whispered. 

Fynta ran through a few of her favorite insults in varying languages before focusing on Lana. “What happened while I was out this time?” Maybe she could sleep through the war, and they could just pretend that she’d given the orders. The thought skittered through her mind before she could stop it, and Fynta almost laughed at how ludicrous it sounded. 

“The Gravestone is safe,” Koth answered, refusing to look at Lana. He tossed the ruined beskar back onto the shelf with more force that Fynta thought necessary. “But, I lost crew back on Asylum. We gained a couple too, I think.” He shrugged and crossed his arms, scowling at the wall. 

Fynta watched the tick in Koth’s jaw, then shared a glance with Lana. “If Senya hadn’t saved the day, it would’ve been a lot worse,” Koth grumbled, then let his arms drop. “Len can’t stop thanking her. It’s gotten embarrassing.” Having given up on intimidating inanimate objects, the man dragged a chair over to where Lana still squatted. “I still don’t trust Senya, but she was there when it mattered.” 

The woman in question materialized in the open doorway, and Koth yelped when she offered quiet encouragement, then resumed glaring. That was how Senya entered a room; invisible until she decided not to be. It was a handy trick that Fynta wouldn’t mind learning. 

Fynta made to grab her braid, a nervous habit she’d developed after her parents died, and scowled when she felt only air. At first, Fynta thought maybe she’d just missed, until her fingers brushed the jagged edges of what was left. “Fierfek,” she hissed. 

It was just hair, but the loss sat heavily in Fynta’s gut. As if sensing her inner turmoil, Lana placed a hand on Fynta’s knee. “Arcann’s lightsaber, we’ll have it seen too as soon as possible.” 

Fynta locked her jaw and nodded. She swallowed a few times to settle her emotions, blaming the chaos on fatigue and shock. Over the last week, she’d been defrosted, allied, betrayed, beat to osik, dragged around the unknown regions of Wild Space, and run through by a lightsaber. That last one was definitely going on her resume. 

It felt like Ord Mantell all over again. 

“We did suffer another loss.” Lana spoke softly, hand squeezing Fynta’s knee. “I assume you were present when HK—” 

Rage so strong that it physically hurt rolled through Fynta’s chest and up her spine. Lana stiffened, but remained stationary. Fynta saw the moment of the assassin droid’s destruction clearly in her mind as he threw himself between Arcann’s lightning and her. The voltage had ripped through his metal body, reducing the droid to a shower of colorful flames. “I’m going to destroy Arcann,” she snarled quietly. 

SCORPIO appeared in the doorway, undoubtedly curious about where everyone had disappeared to. “The HK unit was an inferior design. It was always destined to become scrap.” 

As intelligent as the droid might have been, she lacked tact. Lana reacted, hatred burning in her golden eyes as she reached for her lightsaber. “I will deactivate you.” Koth’s hands on her shoulders were the only thing that kept the Sith from carving SCORPIO to bits. 

For the most part, Fynta ignored their latest addition to the crew. SCORPIO, the fabled Lady of Sorrows, was more complicated than Fynta had time to deal with. According to Lana, Zolah recognized the droid and offered to take over communications with it. Fynta was fine with that, what was another Imperial deciding her fate? She’d already amassed an impressive collection of them. _Where is the Republic in all of this_ , she wondered absently. 

The bed dipped when Senya joined Fynta. The pain evident in those clear, blue eyes concerned Fynta. She didn’t know the woman that well, no one did, but she’d seen that expression before. Back in the Scion’s enclave when she’d admitted that the two hellions destroying the galaxy were her spawn. “Lana told us this all started when Heskal summoned you.” There was a note of apology in Senya’s voice, and Fynta admitted to being relieved that this hadn’t been another test that Senya had been in on. The Scions, a bunch of superstitious Force-users who claimed to see the future, had already put Fynta through the ringer once. She didn’t fancy ever seeing another one, not after Heskal, their ringleader, pitted her in a surprise death match against Arcann because he was _curious_. 

“Heskal’s dead,” Fynta assured them, noting that she had Koth and Lana’s attention again. She’d stumbled upon a couple of Knights dragging his broken body towards their transport. Fynta had put a bolt in the man’s head when he began prophesying that it was all ordained, and the innocents must die before the end. Fynta thought that was defeatist talk, so she’d eased his pain. “He’s the one who brought Arcann to Asylum,” Fynta snorted, then rubbed her sore abdomen. “Said it was destiny.” 

“And the other Scions?” Senya hedged, keeping her expression neutral. 

Fynta sighed again; she’d hoped the woman would have learned her lesson about trusting those whack jobs. “He claimed they’re still on our side. They’ll find us when the time’s right.” 

“With allies like them, we don’t need enemies.” Lana took the words out of Fynta’s mouth. She’d be fine if she never saw another Scion. 

“Okay. If we’re done depressing each other, how about sharing the good news?” Koth elbowed Lana, though there was no hiding the haunted expression in his eyes either. Fynta reminded herself to buy the man a drink when they reached a cantina. Had he not come back for her, Arcann would have had her head. 

The Sith rolled her eyes, but complied. “The Battle of Asylum showed the galaxy that Zakuul isn’t invincible. My contacts in the Core Worlds have thrown their support behind us,” Lana paused. “You’re about to become the leader of an alliance dedicated to bringing down the Eternal Throne, once and for all.” 

“You’ve got to be shabbing kidding me.” They were the first words to roll through Fynta’s mind, and she thought they summed her situation up perfectly. “You guys are putting _me_ in charge?” 

This was definitely Ord Mantell all over again. 

 **Havoc Squad  
****Republic Military Vessel #2287**  

Jorgan had been racking his brain for a couple of weeks about how to get around that blasted platform in orbit above Alderaan. At least Cormac was excited; he hadn’t seen home in a few years, and had promised to bring the kids back a souvenir. The problem was, no military venture had returned from one of the worlds protected by Arcann’s battle stations. Every mission had been doomed to failure, even on the smuggler moon, though regulations there were more relaxed. Alderaan was a high-value target, full of political wealth. Havoc’s options were bleak, either they’d get stuck on the ground, or worse. 

Jorgan stood with a growl; he’d been sitting in the pilot’s chair for the better part of two hours staring at the battle station to no avail. He needed to stretch his legs. Given the small size of their craft, Jorgan noted the startling lack of noise from the rest of the squad immediately. Someone was always moving, laughing, eating, or simply chatting.  

Ducking through the archway that led from the tiny bridge, Jorgan found the others gathered around Kanner. She sat cross-legged in a chair with her datapad held at an angle for everyone to see. “What’s going on?” Jorgan asked, uneasy that such a thing existed in this galaxy that could silence his rambunctious squad. 

Cormac looked up, his face an odd mixture of nervous excitement and fear. The man waved Jorgan over, then looked down at Kanner. “Play it again.” 

The Captain turned more towards Jorgan and held the device higher. “My cousin sent it to me.” Kanner’s SIS contact had saved Aric from needing to contact Balker while supplying Havoc with all manner of confidential intel. 

Kanner pressed play, and a familiar background jumped into life. _“We are getting reports of open warfare at the skyport known as Asylum,”_ an off-screen reporter explained in the concise tones of a serious journalist. _“An individual known only as,_ The Outlander _, has incited open rebellion against Emperor Arcann, who has responded with extreme force. Reports of casualties are still coming in as the area is cleared, but eyewitnesses claim that the Outlander, a woman, escaped the massacre.”_  

The images continued to flit across the screen, blurs of color as ships darted through the blaster fire raining down, and figures scattered for cover. Jorgan’s heart pounded in his chest as his eyes sought every square inch of the datapad for a glimpse of the woman. Most of the footage came from news bots who stayed at a safe distance, and made recognizing individuals impossible. 

Cormac’s open-palmed slap startled Jorgan back to the present, his fingers digging into Jorgan’s shoulder. Balic thought this had to be Fynta’s doing, and even Jorgan had to admit that it looked like her style. The reckless abandon that challenged Arcann was certainly characteristic of his wife. 

 _Wife_. The thought made Jorgan’s chest squeeze tight. Five years had passed. Long days in which Jorgan fought to hold on to hope that they’d see each other again, then fought equally as hard to surrender to reality. If this Outlander were Fynta, _if_ , what could Jorgan ever say to make things right? 

Jorgan heaved a sigh; it was time to find out for sure. “See what your cousin can dig up on the Outlander, Kanner. The rest of you, we need a way off Alderaan. Get to work.” 

 **The Gravestone**  

Koth found Fynta tucked into a nook between the ship’s exposed piping. He recognized the boots, and paused to consider the woman. He’d met a few Mandalorians, though most kept to themselves, and there was a lot of helmet banging involved. Fynta was more personable, though she’d had her moody periods too. Not that he blamed her. 

“Hey, let me call you back.” Koth hadn’t been looking for the Outlander. He’d actually come down here to speak to Hirani in private. Koth contemplated letting the Twi’lek in on the news that Valkorion was alive and well, but she’d never shared his sunny outlook on the matter. In fact, it was the only thing that she and Lana had agreed on over the years. Even having visited Ziost, Koth couldn’t imagine the emperor he knew doing anything to garner such hated from the rest of the galaxy. He’d always been good to Zakuul. 

As Koth neared, he caught a glimpse of Fynta’s confused expression as she stared down at an ancient looking datapad. “Everything okay, Outlander?” 

Fynta flipped the screen off and looked up. “Yeah, just checking messages.” 

Koth lowered himself against the opposite wall and stretched his legs in front of him. “Anything good?” 

The woman shook her head, then set the device aside. “So, can you tell me what I’m walking into?” 

Koth knew a change of subject when he heard one, and pitied the woman. He wondered how far back Fynta’s mailbox would hold messages, if she would have received letters from family and friends. Or worse, nothing at all. “It’s a motley mix, no doubt about that. We’ve got Jedi, Sith, thieves, bounty hunters, soldiers,” he paused and nodded towards her. “Even a few of your kind.” 

Fynta’s expression brightened. “Any chance there’s a Verin Wolfe there? He might go by the last name of Ejnar too.” 

“They don’t really talk to me, sorry,” Koth answered. “This, Verin, he your husband?” Koth may not have known much about the galaxy before, but he’d learned early on why the Cathar members of the Alliance kept themselves separate from Mandalorians. Lana had said that Fynta’s husband was Cathar, so Koth figured he’d have stood out amongst the Mandalorian ranks. 

Fynta chuckled, then thumped her head against the wall and left it there. “No, my brother. He lost his wife shortly before I was taken prisoner, and I’ve been trying to reach him. I just need to know if he’s alive.” 

“Maybe Theron can help when we get back. He’s pretty good with that sort of thing.” Koth’s chrono buzzed to let him know that they’d be dropping out of hyperspace soon. “Looks like you’re about to see for yourself.” He pushed to his feet, then held a hand out for Fynta. “You ready for this, Outlander?” 

Fynta let Koth pull her upright with a grin. “Not a chance in hell.” 

 **Odessen**  
Three Days Later 

Zolah met Vector and Theron on the gangplank with a smile. Vector accepted her into his arms, placing a chaste kiss on her lips, but holding tight enough to promise more later. When Zolah moved to offer the same greeting to Theron, he held up a hand. “You have a sick sense of humor.” 

“Whatever do you mean, love?” Zolah’s attempts at innocence were nearly ruined by a smile she couldn’t contain. 

Theron opened his mouth, then snapped it shut when Andronikos slapped both hands on his shoulders. “You’ve really got to work on this one, Cipher.” The pirate grinned, squeezing tight enough to make Theron’s jacket creak. “He’s so tightly wound, I expected better from you.” With a wink, Andronikos hefted his pack and strode into the cantina. 

“I hate you so much,” Theron muttered, shaking himself in revulsion. “That was the worst trip I’ve ever had, and that’s _including_ running around naked on an Imperial superweapon.” 

Zolah placed an apologetic kiss on his cheek. “As much as you talk about it, I’d say you rather enjoyed that one.” Theron grumbled under his breath, but Zolah cut him off when she saw their target. “Doctor Lokin, it’s been too long.” 

“Zolah, my girl, how lovely to see you.” Lokin didn’t look as if he’d aged a day despite Vector’s report on how sickly the man had been. They’d helped him sort out a cure for his ailment, which had taken longer than expected, and hurried home. “Has my patient arrived, yet?” 

“She has,” Zolah answered, tucking her arm in the doctor’s and leading him towards the medical labs. “Theron, Vector, go freshen up. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Vector picked up his bag and started for their quarters, but Theron hesitated, torn between demanding to see Fynta, and retreating to somewhere safe from Darth Nox’s eccentric crew. Zolah saw Vector tug Theron’s sleeve, then lean closer to whisper. Whatever her husband said, it worked. 

“I’m afraid Fynta’s not very cooperative,” Zolah continued once she was satisfied that Theron wouldn’t cause any immediate trouble. “It’s been nearly impossible to keep her still.” 

Lokin chuckled and patted Zolah’s arm. “Yes, she was like that last time, too.” 

“Last time,” Zolah inquired. “You’ve met Fynta Wolfe before?” She directed him down the maze of hallways, but slowed their steps to give her old ally time to answer. 

“Ah, yes, didn’t I mention it?” Lokin cleared his throat and stared straight ahead. “I was one of the surgeons who installed her cybernetic leg.” Zolah stalled, then came to a complete stop. A wave of emotions crash through her, everything from anger and betrayal, to embarrassment that she’d never recognized his craftsmanship. “If you remember, I had taken sabbatical from your crew at the time, I didn’t find out until much later that she was the one responsible for Rakton’s death. You have my deepest sympathies.” 

Zolah swallowed her anger and began walking again. “It’s in the past. Though, having seen the tech, I should have known.” 

Stopping outside of the main operating room, Zolah hesitated over the access panel. The sounds of an argument drifted from inside, Koth’s deeper tones mingling with Lana’s clear exasperation. Taking a steadying breath, Zolah addressed Lokin again. “I assure you, whatever kind of patient Fynta was back then, she’s much worse now.”


	10. Reeducation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron and Fynta finally catch up, and not a lot has changed. Cormac has a moment of weakness and overwhelming fluff. Fynta gets a new sparring partner who doesn't have time for her antics. And, Koth starts connecting the dots while Fynta meets her new squad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I love ALL of the companions, and definitely have everyone available on the game, on Fynta's character. I love seeing how she interacts with all of them. So, I decided to keep them. This is where those creative liberties start to come into play.
> 
> As always, Mando'a translations at the bottom, and fingers crossed that my formatting works this time.

**Odessen  
Nine Days Later** 

Theron stood at the end of the dock, watching his old friend. Fynta had her head tipped back, eyes closed as she breathed in the fragrant, morning air. Odessen was a beautiful planet, possibly close to what Alderaan had looked like before being settled. The mountains that surrounded their command base were wild, rolling in jagged waves as far as the eye could see. The sky stayed light blue, except for the occasional storm. Even those were more relaxing than threatening. It was the perfect place to recover, and they’d come to plan a war. 

Lana had chosen this planet for its connection to the Force. She claimed that neither darkness nor the light side dominated here. _Balance_ , as she called it. Theron, for his part, had just grown used to living with Sith and Jedi in the same place, seeing them chatting, working together, and training. Not to mention, Theron currently shared quarters with _two_ Imperial spies. 

_Former_ , Theron’s mind supplied, as it did every time that his thoughts trailed towards the impossibility of it all. He was former SIS; Zolah and Vector were former Intelligence. But, out here, there were no connections to the old regimes. They were all fighting to save the galaxy as a whole. 

“Going to stare at me all day, or planning to say hi?” Fynta called without looking, though her lips quirked upward in a smile. 

Theron strode down the dock, keeping his pace even to avoid approaching too quickly. After two weeks, the medical staff had finally released Fynta for full duty. Her curses had echoed off the walls at all hours, arguing against the IVs used to pump nutrients into her, or the specialized diet she was forced to eat to expedite recovery. Even louder had been the expletives accompanying her cybernetic leg. Theron could hardly think of it without attaching _shabbing_ as a modifier. Dips in the kolto tank had gone only slightly better, with the medical staff being threatened that if they liked it so much, they were welcome to take her place. One had been bold enough to point out that they didn’t need healing; Fynta had offered to change that. 

Theron fought a grin as he neared Fynta, having saved several security feeds from the medical wing for his own, personal entertainment. Or, blackmail if—when—she refused to behave. Again. “How are you holding up?” He asked, coming to a stop beside her and leaning against the railing. 

 Fynta shot him a glare that could have stunned a bantha mid-stampede. Clearly, the commander was tired of being coddled. He offered a lopsided grin. “Well, the good news is, your quarters are complete. You can move into them now.” 

Fynta had been sleeping in what was left of the Thunderclap. Theron thought she would have been more excited to see it, but had clearly misjudged how exhausted she was when all he received was a pat on the back and yawn. It hadn’t taken Fynta long to find the bed, and Theron had left her to reminisce in privacy. Later, he realized that she’d been disappointed by the fact that its crew was still missing. According to Balkar, Havoc Squad had been sent on an extended recon and assassination mission. 

_Of all the times for Jorgan to go dark,_ Theron grumbled silently. Fynta’s husband was another subject that they avoided discussing. She had to know that Theron was searching every avenue to reach Havoc Squad, and Fynta had never been great at emotionally compromising subjects. Ignoring the situation until he had answers was easier than facing it. Theron wouldn’t press the issue, at least not until he had a solid lead. 

“Excellent,” Fynta responded. “So, now that I’ve been cleared for duty, are we going to hit one of those Star Fortresses?” 

“Yes,” Theron answered. “Once we have more intel. I’ve got a team on reconnaissance as we speak; we’re looking at the one above Alderaan.” Theron brought up the schematics and turned his datapad towards Fynta. He pulled back when she made a grab for it. “Nice try, I’ll forward you the intel. We’ll need to hit this hard and fast, you game?” 

Fynta flashed a devilish grin “You know I am.” Theron’s cheeks warmed at the insinuation in her words. He hadn’t thought of Fynta that way in a long time. The woman continued before he could embarrass himself with a response. “But first, I need some new armor.” 

Grateful for the reprieve, Theron stowed his datapad and waved for Fynta to follow. “I’ve got just the person for you.” 

A few hours later, Fynta stood in front of a long mirror in the armorer’s shack. The old woman refused to work inside, claiming that fresh air strengthened the metal. Lana had given Paia permission to set up in the cover of the trees, so long as she remained hidden from aerial detection and slept on base to avoid the need for evening lights. 

The armorer boasted an impressive amount of wrinkles, and proudly proclaimed herself to be eighty-two when Fynta inquired about her age. Theron had wondered, but no one on base had been brave enough to approach the woman. He’d have to tally the results of the pool when he got back. Unfortunately, Theron had guessed nearly a decade older, so his account was about to become significantly less impressive. And damn it all if he wouldn’t be paying out to Koth. 

The man had found Theron and Fynta not long after she’d been fitted, He’d cited Lana’s obsessive need to pull him into boring briefings as his main reason for being outside. Koth let out a whistle, eyeing Fynta’s new gear from a safe distance away. “Zakuulan Durasteel. That stuff isn’t cheap, but it is heavy-duty. And, I mean _real_ heavy.” 

Fynta shrugged her shoulders as if to test the man’s claims and nodded. “It’s a few grams more than my beskar’gam, for sure.”  

“You going to be able to carry all that, Outlander?” Koth crossed his arms and winked. He’d taken to calling Fynta by her Zakuulan title, and she’d offered a few colorful names for him in return. More often than not, they left Koth rolling in laughter and begging for translations. It annoyed Theron that these two soldiers instantly understood one another. What was it about the bond of battle that he missed time and time again? 

“I’ve seen the major carry heavier loads than that,” a deep, mechanical voice observed from the entrance. “She’ll be fine.” 

Fynta grinned at the Kel Dor with a gleam of recognition, and Theron wondered if the damn woman would come into this alliance knowing more people than he’d met while fighting with them the last three years. “Captain Zess, I didn’t expect to find you out here.” 

Theron used his implants to do a quick personnel search. Zess had been a guard on Belsavis. After a quick cross-reference with Havoc reports, Theron found that Fynta and the former captain had crossed paths during a blacklisted op to break the imprisoned Dagger Wing unit off the planet. That explained how they knew one another, and Fynta tended to leave a lasting impression. 

“Likewise,” the Kel Dor answered, plopping a mass of sturdy looking fabric on the counter in front of Paia. “Although, I shouldn’t be surprised after all you accomplished during the war. And, it’s just Zess, now. Lost my rank when I joined up here.” 

Theron ignored the conversation around him and stepped into view of the mirror. He tugged on the various straps and clasps of Fynta’s new armor. “How does it feel? Think it’ll do the job?” The last thing they needed was for the stubborn woman to get herself killed on her return op. 

Fynta turned her attention back to the reflection. Zess joined the line of men watching as she batted Theron’s hands away. “The color scheme is better than my last set.” If Theron’s memory served, she’d worn mostly greys with Havoc Squad. This one was black, with the barest splash of white across the chest and inside of the gauntlets. They’d play well with the shadows, allowing her the freedom to flit between them. If Fynta ever attempted the subtle approach, which Theron doubted. 

“I like this,” Fynta remarked, fingering the black cowl around her neck. “It’ll hide the helmet seals.” 

“Because that’s important when people are shooting at you,” Theron snorted, taking his place among the others. 

Fynta’s reflection pinned the spy with an eyebrow raise. “As a matter of fact, I killed one of the shabuir’s that took my leg that way.” Theron made a mental note to look that mission up as Fynta’s fingers moved from the cowl to the rigid collar. “Will it stop a lightsaber?” 

“About as well as the Mandalorian iron did,” Zess replied. “I’ve been working with the local material for about a year, and I’ve seen the Knight’s armor deflect glancing blows.” 

“This stuff is nearly blaster proof too,” Koth added, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I gotta say, I’m a little jealous.” If any other man had looked at Fynta with that gleam, she would have flattened him. However, it was obvious that Koth had eyes only for her new kit. 

Theron squatted and knocked on Fynta’s left leg. It rang with a hollow _thunk_ , and she glared at him. “Your leg is more exposed in this set,” he commented, ignoring her annoyance. He ran his hand over the exposed wires around the inside of the cybernetic ankle before looking at the old woman. “Anything we can do about that?” 

Paia answered with a click of teeth. “Oh, is it my turn to speak now?” Fynta snorted a laugh, then looked away. Paia continued, as if she hadn’t noticed. “Not with this material. It’s too heavy and would interfere with the mechanisms. I put a light shell around what I could, but she’ll just have to avoid tripping over energy blades.” 

Fynta grinned at Theron’s answering harrumph and slipped her Verpine into its holster. She stroked her fingers over the wood grain grip, and Theron swallowed the guilt at not being able to reunite her with the man who’d given it to her. Taking a step away from Theron, Fynta glanced at the other two men. “I guess it’s time to see how good this stuff is. Doctor Oggurobb says he’s got a mission for me.” 

“Oh no, I don’t think so.” Theron shook his head. “We’ve got planning to do, and I’m not risking you getting hurt on a pickup mission. Send someone else.” Fynta glared, but Koth distracted her before she could decide whether or not to deck Theron. 

“That reminds me.” Koth trotted to the door and pulled a weapon from behind it. “Thought you’d be needing this.” He approached with a long-barreled rifle lying flat across his palms. “It used to belong to a buddy of mine; he built it custom.” 

Fynta took the weapon with exaggerated slowness, a sort of silent code passing between the two soldiers. “I’ll use it well.” She tested the weight against her shoulder. The tip clicked, and an electrified bayonet flipped into place with the touch of a button. Judging by the humming reverberating through the stock, everything inside was brand new. She smiled with approval, offering Koth a wink. 

“Hey, no problem,” Koth added with an awkward smile. “It needs a good home, and I know how much you hated losing that other one. Lana said you’d had it for a long time.” 

Fynta pressed the button again to close the bayonet and slung the strap over her shoulder. “We’ll just called this an extended legacy.” 

**Havoc Squad  
Republic Military Vessel #2287** 

Cormac paused at the sound of Jorgan’s laughter. While the Cathar had never been particularly jovial before, those moments had become fewer and further between in Fynta’s absence. Against his better judgment, Cormac paused outside of his friend’s alcove to listen. 

“Being a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Amusement rang clear in Jorgan’s voice, and Cormac knew that there was only one person he could be talking to. 

_“No,”_ Shillet snapped. _“You’re abandoning me to these people, Aric. It’s bad parenting. Not to mention, just plain rude.”_ More deep rumbles of laughter followed, which only riled the girl more. _“I’m serious, I’ll have you reported if you don’t return immediately.”_  

That little Nautolan had brought life back into Jorgan when no one else could. Though the entire squad had taken on the task of backing her financially, she’d clung to the cranky Cathar that had pulled her out of the rubble. At first, Cormac had thought that it had been guilt that drove Jorgan to give the orphan a better life, then he’d realized that the major missed the feeling of being needed. 

“If you report me, who’s going to pay for your education?” Jorgan asked. “Not to mention, the new comlink.” He let the threat hang between them until Shillet hissed in defeat. 

_“Will you promise to come back?”_ The girl’s voice sounded small, like a ten-year old afraid of losing her newfound family, instead of the young adult that she often projected. Cormac’s heart clenched. Did Tayl worry about him like that, or was he not around enough for his son to understand the danger? 

“It’s a simple mission. We’ll be back before you know it.” Cormac noticed that Jorgan didn’t make promises. He worried about Shillet turning bitter if he swore to return, then was killed in battle. “Besides, Aleksei will pick you up this weekend, and you can stay with him and Tayl over the holiday. Think about it, kiddo, a solid week of sneaking junk food past Dorne.” 

A quiet giggle sounded from the other side of the thin barrier, and Cormac grinned. Elara’s brother was almost as bad as the kids, and when all three of them got together, they made her life hell. Now, Cormac knew where some of the ideas stemmed from, and wondered how much trouble Jorgan would get in if Balic ratted on him. The fall out would be cataclysmic, almost worth it. 

“Alright, time for bed. I’ll comm you the next time I get a chance,” Jorgan said as a stifled yawn echoed from the holo. “You can call me anytime you need. If I don’t answer, leave a priority message with the code I gave you, and I’ll contact you as soon as I can.” 

Though Jorgan would never call himself a father, Cormac bet that he’d be good at it. While everyone else spoiled Shillet, Jorgan remained the voice of disciplined reason. Like a proper dad. 

The two began saying their good nights, making Cormac feel like an intruder. His question could wait until later. Hearing Jorgan and Shillet carrying on reminded Balic just how much he missed his own family. _If only you could see how far everyone has come, Fynta_. He bet that she’d have adopted Shillet in a heartbeat. The girl was feisty, clever, and driven, everything that a Mandalorian could ask for in a daughter. 

Grabbing his comm, Cormac crossed the main room to his little nook and pulled the curtain. He had Elara’s number keyed in before he sat on the bed, and grinned like an idiot when his son’s face filled the projection. “Hiya, Tayl,” he began. “Nice pajamas.” 

“Hi, dad! I’m a Wookiee,” the boy answered, tugging at the brown-furred onesie complete with hood. He threw his head back and bellowed; a single tear ran down Balic’s cheek as he laughed. 

**Odessen  
** **Commander’s Quarters**  

Fynta sat on the bed with her legs crossed beneath her and a tiny screwdriver in one hand. She squinted into her comlink, biting her tongue just so, then swore when a wire short-circuited. Pulling back to avoid being singed by the spark, Fynta tossed the datapad away with a huff. 

Despite her best attempts, she couldn’t get her expensive, encrypted line working again. Maybe Verin had deemed the frequency an unnecessary liability with both she and Cinlat dead. Mandalorians didn’t hold out hope beyond a year of missed communication. Her culture accepted death as a part of the natural order and moved on. Which was really, shabbing annoying. 

Leaning against the wall behind her, Fynta took in her new quarters. Her bedroom was built onto an elevated platform in case of flooding, and consisted of a bed, footlocker, and desk, nothing else. The rest or her humble abode was housed in a lower room with a small kitchenette crammed into one corner and a sitting area directly in front of the door. It was fine for a single adult, but Fynta wondered how the refugee families were getting on. She hoped they had a bit more to work with. 

Fynta fingered the leather band around her wrist, twisting it while she considered everything she still needed to learn about this new galaxy. Glancing down, she reread the Mando’a inscription aloud. “Ni hukaatii'gar shebs gar kama.” Fynta snorted a laugh. “I’m glad someone does.” 

The holo made a shrieking noise that echoed louder without its protective housing. Fynta winced and snatched it from the end of her bed. Darth Kozen appeared in miniature, his image flickering. Theron was going to be pissed at the mess she’d made of the internal wiring. 

“Commander, it is time to begin your training.” The Sith spoke before Fynta could answer, his deep tones smooth. “Report to the outdoor firing range; I’ve commandeered it for the afternoon.” 

Fynta lifted a brow at the Pureblood. “An entire firing range for me? And here I thought you were bound to Kaeto.” 

Kozen’s expression never faltered, not even a sigh of exasperation. Then again, he probably got a lot worse from other Sith. Fynta hadn’t met Darth Nox yet, but she’d heard interesting things about the woman, including her robust lust for—everything. 

“Come unarmed and in standard physical training attire.” Without another word, Kozen cut the link, and Fynta was left staring at her ruined comm. 

Pushing to her feet, Fynta examined her clothing, then laughed. “Not a chance, big boy.” She grabbed her new gear, Verpine, and the rifle that Koth had given her the day before. Once fully suited, Fynta reexamined her herself in the mirror and grinned. “That’s much better.” There was no way in hell she was facing a Sith without her armor. 

Fynta strode through the War Room towards the lift that would carry her to the surface. The Alliance had done impressive work hollowing out the mountain they’d claimed as their base. The combination of heavy equipment and Force-users made for an effective tunneling team. _So, the Force is good for something_ , Fynta thought with a sardonic grin. 

The doors slid open to reveal a blazing sun. Fynta inhaled the rich scent of life in full bloom while she allowed her eyes to adjust from the artificial illumination of the underground, to early summer sunlight. Judging by the lush, green backdrop, Odessen suffered from a humid climate. Fynta checked the readout on her new gear and grimaced; 26°C this early in the year didn’t bode well for the rest of the season. 

Fynta found the outdoor firing range and sure enough, not a single lane was in use. No, that wasn’t true. She stopped to study the figure in the middle of the field. Master Kaeto Vaa wandered over to stand beside Fynta, the tall Togruta female blotting out the sun, and smiled. “Are you ready, Commander?” 

“Got those schematics for me, Master?” Fynta responded with the same playful inflection. Kaeto Vaa had returned the day before from a reconnaissance mission on the Star Fortress above Alderaan. The last one before Fynta led her team in. 

“Indeed, Agent Shan has my findings, I believe we know everything we could hope to.” Together, the two women watched the large, red back of a Sith Pureblood who stood motionless. Kaeto inclined her head towards her lover with a smirk. “Come to test your skill?” 

“Are you kidding me, I was invited.” Fynta noted the growing number of soldiers gathering in the tree line, drawn to the potential of a show. Kozen ignored them, but Fynta would bet her backlogged paycheck that he knew exactly where everyone was positioned. A feral grin twisted her lips as she slid her gaze to the Togruta. “And, I _do_ have a reputation to uphold.” 

Kaeto smirked and held out one hand. “Kozen is unarmed.” 

“A Sith is never unarmed,” Fynta countered, but Kaeto remained unmoved, fingers twitching in expectation. 

Relinquishing her rifle, Fynta started towards the Sith. The weight of her hip holster lightened, and Fynta glanced down in time to see her Verpine slide from its sheath and into the outstretched hand of the still smirking Jedi. 

_Cheeky Jetii,_ Fynta thought, shifting onto the balls of her feet and quickening her pace the closer she came to the Sith. 

Fynta had no doubt that she’d go to bed with bruises tonight, maybe even a broken rib or two. Five years in a carbonite induced sleep made her little match for anyone who’d spent that time in battle, much less a Sith. But, she’d enjoy every damn minute of it. 

The observers faded to the edges of Fynta’s vision as it shrunk to include only her target. Within moments, Fynta had crossed the clearing. She threw herself at Kozen at a full run, tucking into a roll to come up opposite of him when he sidestepped the attack. “Good morning, Commander,” the Sith offered with a bow of his head. 

“Darth Kozen,” Fynta answered. She straightened, but kept her muscles tight in preparation for an attack. “Did I disturb your meditation?” 

Red lips curled into the barest hint of a smile. “Hardly, you are out of practice,” he stated in a bored tone. “If you are to face Arcann alone, this must be rectified.” 

“Who says I plan to face him alone?” Fynta asked, keeping her gaze on Kozen’s bright eyes. They both mystified and repulsed her. Though, there was a certain familiarity in their glow. Refocusing, Fynta watched the Sith’s body language, refusing to be lulled into a state of superiority by his relaxed stance. 

Kozen’s smile grew into an expression that made Fynta want to recoil. “Nevertheless, trouble always finds you.” 

The Sith lunged without warning, driving his shoulder into Fynta’s stomach and pinning her with his weight. Fynta brought her knee up, heavy armor cracking him the ribs. She’d heard rumors that Sith used torture and pain to strengthen themselves in the Force. Her strike did little more than drive a grunt from him. Fynta needed to fight smarter, or maybe dirtier. 

Though Kozen had a clear advantage, Fynta knew how to handle a larger opponent. The Sith held her upper arms to the ground, his grip bruising atrophied muscles. Ignoring the tightness in her biceps, Fynta dug her fingers into the pressure points inside of Kozen’s elbows. His forearms tightened with the effort of keeping his hold, and both snarled in pain as they pushed against one another. Fynta’s knuckles, not to mention the joints in her wrists, screamed from the strain. 

Fynta worked her knees higher up Kozen’s bare abdomen, waiting for the right moment. Eventually, biology overcame the Sith’s ability to resist pain, and his fingers loosened. Fynta threw her strength against Kozen with a shout, straightening her legs until there was enough room for her to roll away. 

Fynta aimed a kick at Kozen’s stomach. She missed, of course, but it gave her the space to regain her footing. Kozen leapt to his feet in the same moment, taking up a fighter’s crouch. Fynta mirrored the stance; she refused to go down again. 

Falling back on a timeworn method of attack, Fynta threw herself into a complex flurry of attacks. Kozen looked momentarily startled by the sudden onslaught. Fynta gambled on the fact it had been a while since anyone had assailed the famed Wrath head on, and hoped that it would unbalance him long enough for her to gain some kind of advantage. 

There was a moment when Fynta forgot her surroundings, and peace encompassed her mind. Strategy no longer played a part in her technique. Fynta relied on instinct and training. 

Pressure spread through Fynta’s torso, but the pain felt muted so long as she maintained her focus on Kozen’s eyes. If she lost that connection, the spell would be broken, and logic would try to take over again. She’d used this tactic so many times in the past that it had become second nature. 

Kozen spun out of Fynta’s reach, but she found her visual target quick enough to duck his kick. She answered by ramming her shoulder into his side, then lost her balance when their feet became tangled. Kozen deftly regained his footing as Fynta went down on her hands and knees. She scrambled up again, stumbling forward to put distance between herself and the Sith. 

Fynta wiped the muck from her cheek, but wetness against her flushed skin pulled Fynta’s attention away from Kozen for a breath of a second, her final mistake. In the time that it took for Fynta to glance at her hand, register the gash that spread across her palm from whatever she’d landed on, Kozen’s fist struck Fynta with a force that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She sprawled gracelessly on the ground with no memory of falling. 

Cheering pulled Fynta back from the brink unconsciousness. Two, purple banded montrals entered her field of vision, followed by the gold jewels of Kozen’s facial growths. “Well fought, old friend.” Kaeto offered a hand, and Fynta tried to ignore the queasiness in her stomach as the Togruta pulled her upright. 

“I lost,” Fynta groused, brushing the dirt from her hand to better examine the wound. It wasn’t deep, but no doubt Lana and Theron would fuss at her anyway. Fynta slid her eyes to Kaeto with a teasing smirk. “You just watched me get my ass handed to me, how very un-Jedi like.” 

Kaeto waved her hand. “I am no longer a Jedi.” Fynta raised an eyebrow, and Kaeto sighed. “The Order isn’t what it once was, and with Master Satele’s disappearance, they lack leadership.” 

“So you left it?” Fynta ignored the medic who appeared at her side. He was younger than her, by a lot if his unmarred skin was any indication. 

“Long before Master Shan,” Kozen added, pulling a tunic over his head and retrieving his lightsaber belt from Kaeto. Fynta bet that no matter where he was, Kozen would always be Sith. Much like Lana. Perhaps there was significance in the fact that only Republic citizens gave up their identities when joining the Alliance. Though Fynta would never cease to be Mando’ade. 

Fynta hissed when the medic sprayed an antiseptic on her hand, then tipped her head side to side to relieve the growing stiffness in her neck. With the depletion of adrenaline came the realization of new hurts. “You fought well,” Kozen continued, eyes scanning Fynta in a way that felt more measuring than inappropriate. “Perhaps you’ll be able to pull this off after all. With more preparation, of course.” 

“Are you offering to train me in the secret art of killing Sith?” Fynta nodded her thanks to the medic when he finished wrapping her hand. The boy departed without a word, though his ear turned towards the conversation as he left. 

“Arcann is neither Sith, nor Jedi. He has learned to use the Force in a way beyond what we were taught,” Kozen answered, motioning between himself and Kaeto. “Once I’m satisfied with your training, you’ll be passed on to a new teacher.” 

Fynta remained silent. There was only one person that could be on this base, and she didn’t believe for a moment that Senya would teach Fynta how to kill her son. Kaeto must have picked up on Fynta’s doubt, because she smiled and rested a large hand on the commander’s shoulder. “But, this is a worry for tomorrow. Come, let us treat you to lunch. I’m sure you have questions that Theron and Lana couldn’t answer.” 

**Odessen  
Two Hours Later** 

Koth caught Fynta in the hallway outside the mess hall. The woman flexed her shoulder, then loosened the buckles of her pauldron. Koth almost considered turning around and leaving her, but they were due to take the Star Fortress in a couple of days, and Theron had just put the finishing touches on Fynta’s team. 

Resigning himself to the task, Koth jogged to catch up. “Hey, Outlander.” He grimaced when Fynta looked over her shoulder. She had an impressive shiner forming, and her swollen lip had broken open to ooze anew. Koth pulled up short, not bothering to hide his reaction. “You look like Len after his last bender.” 

Fynta snorted an undignified laugh, then touched the back of her hand to her mouth. “You always know just what to say to a girl, Koth.” 

“I know, it’s a gift.” They walked in silence for a while, until curiosity got the better of Koth. “Seriously, what happened?” 

Fynta offered a grin that stretched her split lip to its brink. “I’ve inherited a new sparring partner. Kozen and Senya want to make sure I’m up to the task of fighting Arcann.” 

Koth nodded. “That’s good, it didn’t go so hot last time.” Fynta spared him an eyebrow raise, one that he found oddly accusative. “I still don’t like Senya, but if she’s here, she might as well be useful.” 

Koth could still taste the bile that rose in his throat when Arcann’s lightsaber plunged through Fynta’s middle. His thoughts had scattered in a thousand directions in a frantic search for anything to separate the emperor from his prey, then dragging the barely conscious woman back to the Gravestone. 

Fynta chuckled and patted Koth’s shoulder, bringing him back to the present. “I supposed practicality is better than open aggression.” Koth snorted, she’d never hinted for him to make amends with Senya before. 

“My people have a saying, _cin vhetin_ ,” Fynta continued. “It means having a fresh start. Technically, it indicates the dissolving of a person's past when they become Mandalorian. But, I think it might apply to Senya, in this case.” 

Koth felt his mood turn sour, though Fynta looked amused. “Yeah well, I don’t have to trust her.” 

“Why did you defect?” The commander asked, still fiddling with her pauldron and grumbling about the strap. “Blasted thing, I’m used to seals, not leather.” 

Koth pulled Fynta to a stop. “Here, like this.” He demonstrated the best way to single hand the buckle while considering her question. “I got tired of fighting someone else’s war. Of taking innocent lives.” 

The stiff leather finally gave. “There, remind me to get you some oil to loosen that up.,” Koth added. 

“Thanks.” Fynta heaved a relieved sigh, pulled the pauldron free, then flexed her shoulder again. “Maybe it took Senya longer to reach the same conclusion. Not everyone learns on the same level.” Koth wasn’t ready to admit to having anything in common with the Knight who’d made his life hell for months. 

A couple of soldiers jogged past in full gear, reminding Koth of his errand. He latched onto the excuse to change the subject. “Anyway, I was sent to introduce you to your team for the Alderaan mission. Zolah is still downloading the schematics from the latest recon; said she’d join later.” 

“The infamous Cipher Nine is briefing us?” Fynta asked with a coy grin that Koth was sure meant he’d missed one hell of a story. “I’ll be sure to pack extra ammo this time.” 

“I take it you two have history?” Nodding toward the conference room at the back of their main staging area, Koth led the way. “Going to share?” 

“We’ve tried to kill one another a couple of times,” Fynta replied with a shrug. “I succeeded in taking out her father figure, she seduced one of my oldest friends. It’s all a bit convoluted. I think we’re over it, now.” 

Koth chuckled and shook his head. “You should join us for a game of Three Truths sometime. I bet you’d be plastered by the fourth round.” Fynta’s eyes lit up, and Koth made a mental note to extend an invitation to the next game night. 

It shouldn’t have surprised Koth to find the two men arguing over the schematics of the Star Fortress when he led Fynta into the room. Her expression shifted to one of amusement, and Koth cleared his throat. The darker skinned of the two glanced over, then smiled. “Ah, Commander, I was hoping you’d drop by today.” Koth only knew the man in passing from his visits the War Room to speak with Master Notiac. 

The soldier snapped off a salute that Koth didn’t recognize, but he knew the man as Republic by his accent. At least he’d figured that part out by now. “Damn fine to meet you, sir. Name’s Felix Iresso, and I’ll be tagging along to watch you take down that Star Fortress.” 

Normally, Koth would have dubbed such blatant fawning as brown nosing, but Iresso radiated a playful optimism that spoke of respect, rather than ambition. A feeling Fynta must have shared when she returned his salute. “Pleasure to meet you, I hear that you traveled with the Barsen’thor. I’ll wager you’ve got some interesting stories.” 

Iresso winked, then stumbled to the side when the big man shouldered past. He crossed his arms in a display of defiance, intentionally looming over the commander. “I’m Pierce, your second in command.” His eyes wandered over Fynta in a way that even Koth found uncomfortable. “I thought you’d be bigger.”

Fynta squared up with the soldier, her expression blank, but eyes dancing with a challenge. “See these marks, soldier?” She gestured towards her battered face. “I just went toe to toe with a Sith. _Your_ Sith, and I’m good for another round. Just say the word, chakaaryc.” 

Pierce chuckled, his posture relaxing. “Of all the people in the galaxy, figures it’d be you I ended up fighting for.” He planted massive hands on his hips and shook his head. “I was among the soldiers who secured the Bastion for the Empire back on Corellia. Barely had my first beer finished before gettin’ the news that some upstart woman had taken it back.” His lips curled into a vicious snarl of a grin. “I can’t wait to see what you’re made of.” 

“Metal, now,” Fynta answered, knocking her knuckles against her prosthetic leg. “It was a pain in the shebs to take back. Literally.” 

Oh. _Oh._ That must have been where Fynta lost her leg. She and Pierce had been on opposite sides. _Huh, small galaxy,_ Koth thought. Now, he wished he was going to Alderaan, too. Putting these two together should be interesting. Then, Koth realized that Theron would be responsible for babysitting them and coughed to cover his laugh. 

“If we’re all done posturing here, would you two like to get back to planning the mission?” Koth and Fynta leaned in opposite directions to peer around Pierce’s bulky frame. A red-skinned Zabrak female braced against the table, staring at the data relay. Koth thought Zabrak were some of the most intriguing beings he’d met so far. Or, at least he had until being taken hostage by that Nautolan back in the Old World. 

Fynta’s demeanor changed, as if she were sizing the other woman up with more care than she had the man who towered over her. “That looks like beskar.”

The woman straightened and met Fynta’s gaze with an air of suspicion. The dead stare and crown of horns gave her a regal appearance, while the battle scars made her look scary as hell. “It is.” She crossed her arms, still unmoved. “Akaavi Spar.”

“Spar, huh?” Fynta’s eyebrow arched, and she extended a hand. “Olarom, narudar.”

Akaavi stared at Fynta’s hand as if expecting a trap. The tension grew, and even Pierce seemed unwilling to break the silence. A slight quirk pulled at the corner of the Zabrak’s lips, and she finally took Fynta’s forearm in a warrior’s grasp.

The moment passed, and Koth felt like he could breathe again. He hadn’t realized that he’d stopped. Damn, these Mandalorians were intense. Akaavi released Fynta and gathered the others to the holotable, her demeanor as serious as it had been a moment earlier. “Now, we’ve got a massive amount of information to cover, and not a lot of time.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a:
> 
> beskar'gam [BES-kar-GAM] armor  
> Ni hukaatii'gar shebs gar kama - I've got your back, always  
> jetii [JAY-tee] Jedi  
> Mando'ade [Mando-AH-day] Mandalorians (pl) - sons and/ or daughters of Mandalore  
> cin vhetin [SEEN-fett-EEN] fresh start, clean slate  
> chakaaryc [chah- KAR-eesh] rotten, low-life, - generic adjective to describe an undesirable person of dubious ethics  
> “olarom, narudar” [OH-lah-rom, nah-ROO-dar] “welcome, momentary friend.” A sense that the "enemy of my enemy is my friend" Fynta's clan and Clan Spar didn't get along, so this would be a tense pact between them. One that both would expect to end once the war was won, but will honor until victory, or defeat kills them.


	11. Degenerate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, Shillet gets sneaky, and Fynta causes more trouble than Theron knows how to handle.

**Odessen  
** **War Room**

Zolah kept her eyes on the datapad in her hands, relying on the proximity sensors built into her implants to keep her on track. The hum of conversations quieted as she neared, then resumed as soon as the Chiss agent passed. Cipher Nine had ceased to be a secret identity years ago, though the stigma still dogged her heels. Not that it mattered, Zolah’s spy career was behind her. Now, her skills were being put to more overt use.

Pouring over the latest of Kaeto Vaa’s recon information, Zolah tapped the screen with her stylus, inserting the intel before deciding that her briefing was complete. Fynta was due to lead a four man strike force against the Star Fortress above Alderaan the day after tomorrow, but a new obstacle might delay the op. Turning the corner, Zolah stepped into a conversation already underway.

“No,” Pierce growled. “That would only succeed in getting our asses blown to bits. Next.”

The big man leaned over the holotable, glaring at an enhanced image of the first level. Zolah paused to scowl at the small group. “Is that really as far as you’ve gotten?” The first level wasn’t even half the mission. They still needed to traverse the sublevel, defeat the guard dog, and run a labyrinth of technical traps to deactivate the superweapon. “Seven hours, and you’ve just knocked on the door?”

Four pairs of eyes blinked at Zolah, but it was Fynta who spoke. “What’s that in your hand?”

“A problem.” With a flick of the wrist, Zolah transferred her readings to the holotable. She joined the others and pointed with her stylus. “See these panels? They are a security feature that we haven’t encountered before. They snap open at seemingly random intervals to allow unfiltered solar radiation to flood the passageway leading from the Skytrooper holding deck.” She paused to let them absorb the news, then sighed when no one reacted. “The same passageway that leads to the command console.”

Pierce snorted and crossed his arms, while Iresso and Spar leaned closer to the image. Fynta kept her eyes on Zolah. Still, no one commented. Zolah began to question the validity of this group. “You’ll need to wear special filters on your visors,” she concluded. “And, see Paia about specialty gear.”

“Not a problem.” Fynta dismissed the new danger as if it were a mere inconvenience. When Zolah made a disgusted noise, the commander gave a pointed nod towards the beings filling the room. Zolah had been so wrapped up in the details of the mission, that she’d neglected to notice that all four were soldiers who were used to heavy durasteel or beskar plating. They were already protected from brief exposure to the solar radiation.

To cover her slip, Zolah changed the topic. “Who will be handling the technical aspect of this?”

Akaavi raised her hand without looking away from the display. “Just transfer your findings to me, and I’ll memorize them later.”

“It’s hardly that simple,” Zolah protested. Two, emerald eyes narrowed in her direction, and Zolah met the Zabrak’s scowl. “While you may fancy yourself a genius, if we muck this up, we won’t get another chance. You and I will go over this together, Spar.”

Akaavi straightened to full height, which was impressive for a female of her species. When Zolah failed to be intimidated, Akaavi nodded. “Fine.”

Zolah assumed that meant she’d gained some modicum of respect, or that Akaavi would gut her later. There honestly was no telling with this lot. Pushing that thought aside, Zolah continued in a terse tone. “Theron believes he’s created a virus that can incapacitate the droid guarding the entrance to the central access corridor, but, it’ll need to be inserted manually.” Zolah held a dataspike towards Fynta, but Pierce snatched the small device before she could grasp it.

The big man tucked it into his belt without a second look at his commanding officer. Zolah waited for Fynta to reprimand him, but she ignored the man and gave Zolah her complete attention. “Anything else?”

“The rest is in the report. Apart from the new obstacle, I believe we are as prepared as we’ll ever be,” Zolah admitted, though there were a fair number of loose ends that still bugged her. Theron assured her that he’d assembled a strike force known for its ability to adapt, and that Fynta wouldn’t leave until the Star Fortress was destroyed.

“Alright,” the commander said, eyes darting around the room. “We’ve got our work cut out for us. Take the afternoon off to spend as you see fit. We’ll sort out the rest on the ride over in the morning.”

Alderaan was a fourteen hour trip from Odessen, but that still didn’t feel like enough time to perfect an operation of this magnitude. Zolah realized that she was still thinking like a spy, not a soldier. They operated on two completely different fields. Then, there was Fynta.

Zolah stepped aside to allow Pierce to stride from the room, Akaavi slinking out behind him with a quirk of her lips that let Zolah know she wouldn’t see the Mandalorian again. If that woman’s over-inflated ego buggered up the mission, Zolah would tear out her horns personally.

“Sir, permission to speak freely?” Felix Iresso asked, catching Fynta by the door, and garnering Zolah’s full attention. In her experience, Iresso was a quiet man, pleasant to be around, and honest to a fault. He knew how far to push an argument without becoming insubordinate, and when a topic wasn’t worth the effort. Vector respected the man for that particular talent, and the majority of the base appeared to agree.

Fynta clasped her hands behind her back. “I always allow my officers to speak their mind, Iresso.” She cast a glance at Zolah to indicate that she wanted a word before they parted ways.

Felix smiled, though his brow creased in concern. “Pierce seems to have a bit of a god complex. Now, I did some research into his old unit, and they pulled off some impressive things, but I’m concerned about the insubordination.” Iresso glanced at the door. “Stunts like that could get someone killed.”

Fynta patted Iresso on the shoulder, and the flash of silver caught Zolah’s eye as Fynta tossed the dataspike into the air. She caught it with a devilish grin. “I’ve dealt with his type before. He’ll come around before long.”

“Did you pick his pocket?” Iresso’s eye widened, as did his smile. The man rubbed the back of his neck and huffed a light laugh at the impish glint in Fynta’s eyes. “He's gonna’ piss himself when he realizes that’s gone.”

Having come to a conclusion, Iresso offered a salute. “Alright, sir. I’ll leave him in your capable hands.” The man was still chuckling when he exited the room, leaving Zolah and Fynta alone.

“Once you earn his respect, Pierce will fall in line,” Zolah assured Fynta. She’d seen the way he obeyed Darth Kozen, who had never needed to threaten his crew. Well, apart from Malavai Quinn, but that was another matter entirely.

Fynta slipped the spike into her pocket and shrugged. “I’m not worried. He just needs to learn that I’m not a pushover. There are more sinister ways to break an insubordinate spirit than brutality.” Fynta waved her hand, and the image of the Star Fortress zoomed out. “Where is Theron planning to offload us?”

Zolah approached the table and spun the image to show a small maintenance dock. “Your pilot is famed for her ability to break blockades. She’s been running our supplies since the beginning. One of Hylo’s best.”

Fynta stared at the image until Zolah broke the silence. “What’s on your mind?” While she’d never call Fynta a friend, they did work well together. And, the woman had a tendency to be clever when least expected.

Spreading her hands to enlarge the landing platform, Fynta chewed her lip. “We might need some extra firepower here. Arcann isn’t going to leave that unguarded. I’m betting sleeper droids.” Head tilted to one side, she rotated the image. “Each one of my soldiers wears a pressurized suit of armor. I think we should skip the dock and aim for this ventilation shaft.”

Zolah calculated the angle of approach, along with their odds of being able to remain undetected while ejecting four soldiers towards such a small target. “That’s a risky move, Fynta.”

The commander nodded. “But, if we land, then start a firefight on that dock, Arcann will have a small fleet on us in minutes.” She followed the pipeline from the exterior through the Star Fortress until it ended on the third deck. “This gets us halfway there. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“If I understand the way your suits work, that doesn’t leave much room for error,” Zolah added. She knew that Pierce’s only contained twenty minutes of oxygen. “One wrong turn, and you could lose half your team.”

“Land on that dock, and we could lose an entire planet.” Fynta puffed out a breath that ruffled her bangs. “I’m willing to risk it, and I’ll bet those soldiers are too.”

Zolah admitted that there was a certain truth to the commander’s fears. “Let me take this up with Theron and Lana. We’ll be in touch within the hour.”

Fynta clapped Zolah on the shoulder. “I’ll leave my comm on.” She checked her chrono and smirked. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my own pre-mission routine to follow.”

 **Coruscant  
** **Residential Sector  
** **Apartment 7865**

Shillet woke to the sounds of urgent voices. A distant memory stirred in her sleep-addled mind of an argument that slipped away before the young Nautolan could grasp it. These voices, however, were real, with accents so thick that Shillet had to creep to the door in order to understand what they were saying. She paused, glancing back at Tayl’s bed to ensure her little cousin was asleep, before tiptoeing further into the hall.

“I can’t, Elara, not this time,” Aleksei complained, holding his arms out in a gesture that meant he was tired of repeating himself.

“You have to,” Elara shot back, hand on hips. “I leave in two hours; there isn’t time to contact the school. You’ll need to take care of them until the morning.”

Aleksei threw his hands up and stomped away. He stopped at the window before rounding on his sister. “And, I need to report for duty at 0300. Balkar will have my balls if I’m late again.”

Elara rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand, which made her brother’s nostrils flare in anger. “Nonsense. Jonas will understand that there are extenuating circumstances. I’ll contact him myse—”

“No,” Aleksei snapped. “I’m a grown ass man, Elara. _I’ll_ handle my boss.” He huffed and started towards his bedroom. “Just go. I’ll manage.”

Elara sighed and rubbed her temples. Shillet ducked into the refresher when Elara started down the hall to check on them, then snapped her fingers like she’d remembered something and turned towards her office. Shillet breathed a sigh of relief, then dashed back to the room on silent feet.

Shillet lay in bed, dreading returning to the boarding school three days early, and decided to try Aric’s comm. She knew he wouldn’t be able to answer, but the sound of his voice recording soothed her nerves. Shillet hung up when Elara’s footsteps echoed in the hall again. She reminded herself to send Aric a text later letting him know that she was okay. He had a tendency to worry when an explanation didn’t accompany a missed call. Shillet assumed that it was due to his lost wife, but he rarely spoke of the woman.

Elara crept into the room and fussed with Tayl’s blankets. “I’ve got to go on a little trip, but I’ll return as soon as possible.” Shillet peeked through slitted lids, watching Elara run her fingers through Tayl’s dark hair. The woman’s graceful features held a sad smile as she stared down at her son. “Uncle Aleksei will be with you tonight, then it’s back to school with your friends.”

Tayl stirred, took a deep breath, but never woke. Elara bent to kiss his forehead, and Shillet snapped her eyes shut when the woman turned towards her. Shillet felt her mattress depress under Elara’s weight, and the familiar tickle of human fingers brushing through her head tresses. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t stay longer,” Elara whispered, and Shillet wondered if the captain knew that she was awake. A profound weariness radiated from Elara so strong that Shillet almost sat up for a hug. “I promise that I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can.”

Elara repeated the maternal kiss with Shillet before rising to her feet. “Do behave,” she added with the hint of a smile. “I’m not sure Jorgan can handle being called into the dean’s office anymore.”

Shillet kept her eyes closed, refusing to relinquish the ruse of sleep. Elara padded to the door and slipped out, shutting it behind her. Once she was sure that Elara was gone, Shillet flopped onto her back to stare at the ceiling. A holographic sky met her gaze, a program to allow children who lived on planets with a false sky access to the wonders of the galaxy. The shooting stars did nothing to calm Shillet’s foul mood this time.

Knowing that Elara was leaving, and that Aleksei would soon be unreachable as well, sent a cold shiver through the Nautolan’s small body. Shillet didn’t like feeling alienated from her family. What if there was an emergency, or something happened to Tayl? How could she track down someone responsible? _They’re all leaving_ , she thought. _Aric, Elara, Aleksei. What if they don’t come back?_

Shillet couldn’t calm her mind, and had worked herself into a near panic when she rolled over to grab the link to try Aric again. She paused, hand poised over the device, when she saw the late hour. Elara would already be gone by now.

Pushing herself upright in bed, Shillet decided to use the ‘fresher and maybe get a drink of water. She should have been asleep hours ago, and grumbled that she’d missed yet another opportunity to rest. All over stupid worries that she couldn’t change because kids didn’t get a say in the affairs of adults.

Having seen to her needs, Shillet headed back to bed. She paused when she realized that the light in Aleksie’s room was still on. Curiosity drove the young Nautolan towards him. It was nearly 0200, but her uncle showed no indication of getting ready for work. Shillet waited for him to notice her, then knocked on the doorframe when she became impatient.

Aleksei, the mirror image of his sister, waved his hand for Shillet to enter. “You’re supposed to be asleep, Tadpole.”

Shillet rolled her eyes at the endearment. Balic had called her that when she'd been so malnourished that she couldn't offer her real name. The big man had spent hours by the tank they'd used to nurse her back to health, making faces and telling silly stories to distract her from the slow process. She'd barely been old enough to survive out of water then, but she still remembered.

“I couldn’t,” Shillet grumbled as she hopped onto Aleksie’s bed. “What are you doing?”

Aleksei hunched over his desk with a pair of oversized spectacles balanced on his nose and two sets of tweezers in hand. “Bugging a comm.” His shoulders stiffened, and he glanced back with a sheepish grin. “That’ll be our little secret, though.”

Shillet slid off the bed and hurried to the desk. “Can I watch?” She put on her best pleading expression, ensuring that the light from the lamp caught her eyes just so to reflect her ... _sincerity_.

Aleksei chewed his lip, then glanced towards the door. Finally, he sighed. “Sure, but this never happened, got it? Aric would kill me if he knew that I’d taught you anything related to the SIS.”

Shillet grinned, bouncing on her toes. “I swear, not a word.”

With a chuckle, Aleksei shook his head and handed her the glasses. “Okay, first, you need to understand how a comm works.”

  **Odessen  
** **Seven Hours Until Star Fortress Strike**

“So, it’s decided?” Theron looked around the small table at the few they’d managed to pull in for the impromptu meeting. Lana, Notiac, and Koth had joined Zolah, Vector, and himself in their quarters to discuss whether or not Fynta’s plan was worth the risk.

“This is why we needed Fynta specifically,” Lana reiterated, both hands pressing against the top of the table. “She has a talent for seeing avenues that others overlook.”

Theron took that as a yes from Lana, and looked towards Koth. The man leaned back in his chair and nodded. “If anyone can pull this harebrained plan off, it’s the commander. I don’t want to be the one to tell Hirani, though. She hates last minute changes.”

“Noted,” Theron commented dryly. Koth held his hands up in surrender and looked away. Theron moved on. “Any objections?”

“Not from us,” Vector added as he set a fresh pot of tea on the table, then leaned on the back of Theron’s chair to look down at him. “We have witnessed Fynta’s stubbornness first hand, and feel that she would find a way to proceed without our blessing.”

Theron snorted even as Koth chuckled. A single glance towards his Imperial lover stilled Theron’s ironic amusement. “Zolah?”

“I still have reservations, but it’s clear which way the vote leans,” Zolah answered, dipping a spoonful of sugar into her tea and stirring. She kept her eyes on her task, a clear sign that she was irritated that her warning remained unheeded. When no one responded, Zolah set the spoon aside with a huff. “Fynta is reckless, but she _does_ get results. Truthfully, we shouldn't be risking our trump card on missions of this caliber, but I’m not foolish enough to believe that she’d remain on Odessen while the men under her waged war.”

Vector placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “She is Mandalorian. It is not in her nature to resist a fight.”

The only person who had yet to offer an opinion was Master Carlo. The Miralukan always waited until others had said their piece, speaking after she’d digested every angle. “I’m afraid I agree with Agent Holran,” the Jedi said. She tilted her head when all eyes turned towards her, a single, brown curl sliding over one shoulder. It fascinated Theron how she could express so much patience without the use of eyes. “Fynta Wolfe is a tumultuous creature. She has just as much potential to ruin this frail alliance as she does to lead it to victory.”

Theron felt a chill run the length of his spine, starting at his neck and tingling down the back of his legs. Master Carlo held a lot of sway on the war council, for good reason. If the Barsen’thor objected to the mission, then they’d be kicked back to planning. It would infuriate Fynta, and create a shit storm for Theron to navigate.

“However,” Notiac continued, and Theron promised all manner of good behavior to the Force. “She seems sincere in her wish to destroy Arcann, and that will have to do for now. Let her have control of this mission, and we’ll review her performance afterward to discuss future possibilities.”

“That settles it, then.” Theron switched off his datapad and collected it from the center of the table before any more objections could be raised. They’d turned the image of the Star Fortress in every perceivable angle, and still had nothing better than Fynta’s suggestion. “I’ll let the commander know that it’s on.”

The group began to disperse while Theron and Vector gathered teacups and beer bottles. He glanced at his chrono, noting the late hour, and scowled. “She said something about a pre-mission routine,” Zolah answered to Theron’s unasked question.

“Let’s hope not.” Theron knew what those words would’ve meant ten years ago, then almost missed his next step. _Holy kriffing hell, I’m getting old_.

Theron cleared his throat when he caught Vector staring at him with an upturned eyebrow. “She should be done at the cantina by now, I’ll try her quarters first.”

Fynta’s room wasn’t far from his. They were due on the ship at 0400, and given the hour, Theron hoped that Fynta had at least turned in for the night.

Theron arrived at Fynta’s door to the sound of glass shattering inside, followed by a masculine grunt. Frowning, he pressed his ear to the cold metal in time to hear something heavy to smack against the wall. Heart racing, Theron sliced through the biometric lock as dozens of scenarios flitted through his mind. Lowest priority was  trying to ascertain how someone could have gotten through his security.

Notiac filtered all new arrivals personally, and her ability to sense guilt was unrivaled. Besides, anyone making an attempt on Fynta’s life would find themselves outmatched. She’d tear her attacker apart, even if it killed her in the process.

When Theron broke through the system's firewall, he burst into the room with blaster drawn. He forgot the weapon as he took in the scene before him. “What—” Theron sputtered, blinking rapidly, unsure where to rest his eyes.

Fynta’s mismatched legs were wrapped around the waist of an unfamiliar Twi’lek, and clothing littered the floor. Theron met Fynta’s half-lidded eyes over the man’s shoulder. She had the audacity to smirk, sliding her hands behind the male’s head to encourage his exploration of her breasts. Theron’s lip curled in disgust.

“Care to join us?” Fynta asked, head tilted to the side, eyebrow raised. Only then did the Twi’lek notice Theron’s entrance. The man’s blue flesh paled with recognition.

“What. The. Kriffing. Hell,” Theron ground out, accentuating every word.

The Twi’lek detangled himself from Fynta’s limbs and raised both hands. His eyes traveled to the weapon dangling from Theron’s fingers. “She never said anything about being in a relationship, sir.”

Theron snarled, snatching a military green shirt from the floor, and threw it at the male. “Beat it.” Without bothering to don the clothing, the Twi’lek buttoned his pants and scurried from the room. Theron followed on his heels, keying the door shut behind him before rounding on Fynta.

The commander wore a droll expression that could have meant anything from mild amusement to the threat of violence. Still sitting on the counter, Fynta crossed her legs with chin in hand and an elbow planted on her knee, not bothering to adjust the bra that no longer supported her.

Theron forced a couple of deep breaths, then waved his hand at the door. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

Fynta rolled her eyes. “Not quite.” She hopped off the counter to dig through her icebox, casting a coy look over her shoulder. “Jealous that I didn’t come to you?”

“Don’t be an ass, Fynta. You know damn well what I mean.” Theron grabbed her shirt from the back of a chair and threw it at her. She raised an eyebrow as she opened a beer, setting the garment on the counter to be ignored.

Fynta’s nonchalant manner set Theron’s blood to boil, but not the way it used to. This had to be Valkorion’s doing. She wasn’t as in control of her actions as they’d thought. The Fynta that Theron had come to respect would never have behaved like this. _This_ was the Wolfe from their younger years.

“Damn it, how could you do that to Jorgan?” Theron all but shouted, barely able to see through the haze of anger. Not that he and the Cathar had ever been pals, but Theron didn’t want to be proven correct. Not after the hell Jorgan had lived through all these years.

Fynta smirked and took another swig. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t his name.” She downed half her beer, then rolled her eyes again when Theron didn’t respond. “Shab, Theron. It was just a way to work off some steam, I’ve been cooped up for too long.”

Theron closed the space between them and knocked the drink from Fynta’s hand. The bottle struck neck down and splashed against the grey stone. The commander blinked at the mess dribbling onto the floor, then sighed as if it was just one more thing gone wrong in her day. “That was my last one.”

Theron snatched Fynta’s wrist with a snarl. He held the leather band so that she could see it, all but shoving it into her face. Theron remembered seeing a matching cuff on Jorgan’s arm back on Ziost, though he hadn’t known what it meant at the time. “Major Aric Jorgan. Your husband. The man you pledged your life to.” He released her with a shove. “And here you are, whoring yourself out like the old days.”

Fynta’s face twisted in anger. She swung, and Theron ducked to back towards the door before she could draw her blaster. “Get. Out,” Fynta snarled between clenched teeth.

Theron keyed the door opened without taking his eyes off of the woman. “I thought you’d changed. I guess I’m an idiot like the rest.”

Fynta vanished behind the counter. Sensing that he’d pushed the commander to her breaking point, Theron slipped from the room. Fynta’s discarded bottle shattered against the corridor wall just before the door snapped shut, leaving Theron alone with the glinting shards of glass, and a lot of unanswered questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so nervous about this chapter. Meanwhile, my beta Dimigex cackled evilly.


	12. Unsettled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron and Lana accidentally get to the bottom of what's wrong with Fynta, and none of them are prepared. Kozen meets an adversary that he didn't expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted a way to turn the Outlander arc into something new, and this was my answer. By now, Fynta's swearing habits are fairly known, but I've included the new Mando'a at the bottom.

**Odessen  
** **Commander's Quarters**

Fynta snarled at the closed door, visions of Theron's untimely demise floated through her mind; she particularly liked the one involving a stray gundark. The bastard thought he was so clever, coming into  _her_  quarters and depriving her of the simplest pleasures, while  _he_  shared living space with not one, but  _two_  Imperials.

"Clearly, the commander of the Alliance isn't supposed to submit to such carnal needs," Fynta growled, stomping around her living room while looking for something to distract herself with. She paused next to the door, then kicked it. "You should have chosen a different leader then, palon'sheb!"

Fynta had no clue if Theron remained on the other side of the door, but it made her feel better to think that he might be. She hadn't asked for any of this, and Fynta had warned Lana that putting her in charge was a terrible idea. But, the Alliance needed something new, and Fynta fit the bill. Fan-fierfeking-tastic.

Throwing herself onto the sofa, Fynta huffed in annoyance. Now, she was antsy  _and_  irritable, with a critical mission due to begin in a few hours. She couldn't sleep, not while her mind seethed with anger and her body vibrated with unspent desire. Her heart pounded out an uneven rhythm, making it hard to breathe. Fynta focused inward, tracking the muscles used with each inhalation, then the converse muscles needed to release it. After several breaths, her ploy worked, and calmness returned. At least, until her gaze fell on the sticky puddle that marred the kitchen floor. Rage surged back in full force.

"Husband," Fynta snorted the word. She crossed her arms and stared around the room until the abrasive feel of leather against her inner elbow drew her attention downward. Pulling that arm free, she stared at the words worked into the worn band around her wrist. They were in Mando'a, a promise that someone would always have her back. She'd assumed it was from Verin, a little sentimental for his style, but who else?

A cold chill settled over Fynta. "Surely not."

The datapad on the table by Fynta's knees irresistibly pulled her attention. She lifted the device, but couldn't bring herself to turn it on. Fynta was a Republic soldier, SpecForce, and bound by a lot of regulations that she usually ignored, but marriage? Either she'd lowered her standards over the years, or a lot more Mandalorians had switched sides.

Taking a deep breath, Fynta switched the device on. "Okay, let's see what we can dig up."

A memory surfaced of an old letter in Fynta's inbox. She'd received it shortly after her incarceration. While Fynta couldn't recall who it had been from, she remembered reading the words of a husband desperate for his wife. Koth had startled Fynta before she could think too much about it, and she'd deleted the message without a second thought.

Fynta had been disoriented, and the words were so old, that she'd discounted them as a fluke; the wrong address. Could it be possible-Theron's bitter shouts echoed in Fynta's ears, cutting off that line of thought. "Aric Jorgan," she said aloud, wincing at the way her tongue stumbled over the name.

The initial result list was ridiculously long until Fynta narrowed her search to men in SpecForce only. If Theron knew about him, then they'd clearly worked together. He must be a soldier. Then, another possibility hit Fynta so hard that it stole her breath. "Oh, dear gods, please don't let him be SIS."

A new roster blinked onto Fynta's screen, only twenty profiles this time. She smirked at some of the more outlandish possibilities, thumbing through the heavily redacted profiles. Eventually, the task lost its appeal, and she sighed in frustration. None of the men listed looked anything like what Fynta would be attracted to. They were all so…professional.

Curling her lip at the options, Fynta decided on a different tactic. She added her name to the list, and was surprised to get a result. "Havoc Squad, damn," Fynta muttered. It was an old holonews article about Corellia. No images, just a list of names that someone had leaked to the press about the people who reclaimed the Bastion and put Rakton out of commission.

Brow furrowed, Fynta switched her search to articles including the famed black ops unit. Aric Jorgan appeared time and time again, more recently in connection to a nasty battle in the Outer Rim. Fynta wondered when the Senate had stopped censoring the media. The fact that she'd stumbled across this information was downright lazy. Not only that, it was dangerous.

Having found the man's name and rank, Fynta used the skills that Theron had taught her to slice into the military database. It took longer than she would have liked, forcing Fynta to acknowledge how rusty her skills had become. Eventually, she found the profile she was looking for-and promptly dropped her datapad.

The device clattered to the floor as Fynta jerked her feet onto the cushion as if the thing had come to life. Peeking over the edge, she stared at the stern features of the man Theron claimed she'd married. At least, that was the only Aric Jorgan that Fynta could find in correlation with her name.

Regaining her composure, Fynta snatched the datapad off the floor and held it closer to examine the image. "What the hell?" Theron had to be screwing with her; there was no way she'd have married that particular man. Everything about his was wrong.

Body shaking with fury, Fynta didn't bother reading the rest of the major's profile. She snatched her shirt from the counter and keyed open the door with a single objective in mind:  _I'm going to kill the slimy_ _ade'al dalab_ _._

**Odessen**  
**War Room**

Theron slumped into a chair across from Lana and glared at her cup of tea. He'd wandered around the base, searching for a distraction from what he'd seen, and the knowledge that someone would have to break the news to Jorgan. Theron didn't want to be that guy. He doubted that the Cathar would even believe him, but Jorgan deserved the truth.

_I warned him_ , Theron thought bitterly,  _back on Rishi. I told him that Fynta wouldn't last_. But, the man had been in love. Worse, they'd already been married by then, and Cathar mated for life.

Theron leaned back in the chair and rubbed both hands over his face. It wasn't until his fingers cleared his hair that he realized Lana was staring at him. She lifted her cup, took a sip, then set it back on the table with painful deliberation. Even with the speculative gaze in those sharp, golden eyes, Lana looked as ragged as Theron felt. She tipped her head slightly to one side, toying with the cup between her finger, as if her casual approach could soften the blow of whatever news he brought. "What happened?"

Theron thumped his forehead against the table, instantly regretting it. To soothe the new ache, he folded his arms beneath his head and mumbled into the sleeve of his jacket. "Fynta was  _entertaining_  company when I arrived."

When Lana didn't comment, Theron lifted his eyes to see that the Sith's brows had disappeared behind her bangs. She gestured for him to continue, and Theron sighed as he pushed himself upright again. "We shared words, I  _may_  have said something not entirely untrue, and she  _might_  have considered putting a bolt between my eyes."

"That is odd," Lana commented, glancing away. "I got the impression that Fynta was wholly devoted to Major Jorgan. I never sensed even the slightest crack in their bond on Yavin."

Lana's brows furrowed, then sprang back towards her hairline. "Has she asked about him? About any of them?"

Theron shook his head. "That's the thing. When I mentioned his name, Fynta waved me off like a kriffing dekk fly. I mean, yeah, I get that from her all the time, but this is different. She's completely out of control."

Theron began counting fingers. "She's taking risks, attempting to sleep around, her temper is worse than ever." Theron sighed. "And, she's drinking way too much. It's like when I first recruited her. At least, during our hunt for Revan, she wasn't so…." Theron growled in frustration and threw his hands up. "I don't know how to describe it, but something's off."

"Perhaps it's the shock of being in carbonite for five years," Lana suggested, though Theron heard the hesitance behind her words. "There was never time for her to adjust before being thrown back into war."

"That's what worries me," Theron admitted. "What if—"

A datapad slammed onto the table so hard that Lana's tea tipped on its side, sending brown liquid racing across the table.

Theron followed the datapad upward to its owner and found Fynta, eyes burning with rage. She stabbed a finger at the device. "You know, you almost had me, Shan." Theron blinked at the commander. "All that talk about husbands and loyalty. So, I did some digging. Is that him?"

Theron forced himself to look at the image on the screen. Aric Jorgan stared back at him with a familiar scowl. The photo looked to be from his military file. "Yeah," Theron responded, looking back at Fynta. In his peripheral, Theron saw Lana tense, and knew that she was trying to get a read on the commander.

Fynta snorted. "You should research your sources better." When Theron gave a confused shrug, she rolled her eyes. "He's a shabbing  _Cathar_ , for fierfek's sake. Or did you miss that detail while weaving such a pretty story for me?"

Theron glanced at Lana, who continued to stare at Fynta with her brows furrowed. Finally, he met Fynta's gaze again. "Yeah, you two broke a lot of rules, and not just within the army. Trust me, no one was more surprised than your brother."

"Leave Verin out of this," Fynta spat. "Why the hell would a Cathar marry a Mandalorian? Better yet, his marital status lists him as single."

Theron opened his mouth to answer before realizing that he didn't have one. None of Fynta's questions made sense. While they stared at one another, Lana reached across the table to retrieve the datapad. She swiped through a few screens, then held it up to Fynta. "Do you recognize any of these people?"

Theron and Fynta turned as one to look at the image. It was a stock photo of Havoc Squad from when Fynta had been cleared for duty after Corellia. On the screen stood all six members, including the Supreme Chancellor Saresh, with Fynta at the front.

Fynta's features smoothed as she leaned closer, scanning it for a full minute before answering. "Well, that's Yuun, our new recruit. Theron says I'm married to that one, and he kind of looks like the Weequay scum that I wasted on Asylum."

Theron's blood ran cold. "You killed Vik?"

Fynta shrugged. "Maybe? Honestly, they all look alike." She grabbed the datapad and spun it back towards them. "Did you add me to this photo, Shan?"

Theron blanched, but Lana spoke before his indignation could manifest as words. "You don't recognize any of them, not even Cormac?"

Fynta turned the image back towards herself and gazed down at it. A trace of-something, flitted across her features before she shook her head and looked back at Lana. "Should I?"

Theron grabbed Fynta's wrist and tugged her into the chair beside him. They questioned her thoroughly about her life, focusing on the six years prior to her arrest. Fynta remembered all of her missions, but the details were always just out of reach.

Fynta grew more agitated as the interrogation wound on, rubbing at her temples. Sensing that she was nearing the end of her patience, Theron pressed for one more answer. "How did you lose your leg?"

"Rakton and his cronies. I woke up in a medbay minus the leg," Fynta replied, though Theron knew her well enough to hear the panic rising in her voice.

"And, how was your rehab?" Theron pressed.

Fynta's fingers dug so deeply into her eyes that Theron feared she might put them out. Lowering her hand, she sighed. "I don't know. I honestly can't remember."

"That's because Jorgan and Dorne oversaw it personally. Damn it, this is bad." Theron stood and began pacing while Lana laid her fingers against Fynta's wrist. Normally, all the Sith had to do was see a person to visualize their thoughts. By touching Fynta's skin, she could sift easily through even the most minor detail that surfaced.

"I can't find anything," Lana concluded, and Theron swore again. Without any preamble, Lana stood, grasping Fynta by the upper arm like the unruly child she often behaved like. "We must get her to Darth Kozen. He is our only chance to draw out these memories."

Running his hands down his face, Theron nodded. "We need to postpone the Star Fortress strike."

"No," Fynta's tone brokered no argument. An impressive feat while being dragged out of the war room by a Sith. "No, we need to execute the plan. We'll worry about the rest later."

Lana nodded in agreement before Theron could protest, so he gave up with a sigh. Fynta would steal a ship and go after the damn thing herself, anyway. "Fine, let's see what the creepy Sith has to say, first." He followed the women, attention still on Fynta. "And, not a word of this to anyone."

_It's all gone_ , Theron thought, looking at his old friend with pity. Everything that had matured Fynta over the years: her family, squad, the growth she'd seen under Jorgan's care, it was just  _gone_.

A sobering realization struck Theron as Lana pounded on Kozen's door.  _Now, what am I supposed to tell Jorgan?_

**Odessen  
Residential Quarters**

"Fynta, you  _are_ doing this." Theron's agitated tone bled from the hallway a moment before Kaeto opened the door. The commander of the Alliance, an organization formed to take down the greatest threat their galaxy had ever seen, stood in the entryway with arms crossed like a sullen apprentice.

Kozen joined his Jedi lover in the main room to glare at the individuals who'd disturbed their slumber. Kaeto had woken violently enough that Kozen's instinct had been to draw his weapon. A wave of fear and rage wafted from the Togruta, though Kozen now realized it must have been an echo of what she'd felt emanating from Fynta. Not even Kozen's ability to shield Kaeto could protect her mind from the emotions of others while they slept. Claiming quarters so close to the Enclave usually negated the need to remain on guard. Unless unruly, human emotions interfered with their peace, of course.

Clearing his throat, Kozen pulled Theron and Fynta's attention away from one another so that he could question their intrusion. "To what do we owe  _this_  pleasure?"

"Forgive us, Lord Kozen, Master Vaa," Lana began, stepping around the squabbling humans. She nodded to Kaeto as well, indicating their sleepwear with a flick of her eyes. "I would not have disturbed your rest were it not imperative that we see you at once."

"Of course," Kaeto answered, her thick accent filling the room with a sense of ease as she waved them towards the sitting area. Kozen loomed behind them, still displeased that his abode had been infiltrated without invitation. "I felt your disquiet from quite a distance, what has happened?"

Kozen lifted a brow stalk. He'd assumed that Fynta's rage had disturbed his lover, but realized that it must have been Lana's fear. That gave him pause. Her emotions appeared muted next to the tumultuous chaos that was Fynta Wolfe. Only Kaeto's innate abilities would have been able to sense the drastic change in their even-tempered Sith ally.

Lana pushed Fynta onto the sofa while Theron stood behind her. "I fear that we've made a troubling discovery that is beyond my abilities to explore." Her golden eyes turned towards Kozen. "Lord Wrath, the commander is missing a substantial number of memories, we need your expertise to draw them out."

"No, we don't," Fynta groused, beginning to stand, only to be shoved back onto the sofa and held fast by Theron's hands on her shoulders.

"Yes, we do." Theron's grip tightened, and Kozen shared a bewildered glance with Kaeto.

Turning his attention towards Fynta, Kozen clasped his hands. "The process will go smoother with your acquiescence." Fynta began to protest, but Kozen hardened his tone. "But, I will extract them by force, Commander."

While Theron had been known to leap to unfounded conclusions, Lana had always been a steadfast voice during a crisis. Her concern was enough to convince Kozen of the potential danger.

Theron cleared his throat. "You aren't going on this mission without knowing the extent of the damage." Hazel eyes narrowed, his voice dropping with emphasis when he continued. "Just let Kozen check."

"Here's a better idea, Shan." The woman shook off Theron's hands to pace around the room. "Let's open  _your_  mind up to a Sith lord, then you can tell me how pleasant it is."

Theron huffed so violently that Kaeto winced. "It's not my mind that's been altered by the undead bastard living in it. We need to understand this, Fynta."

Glancing at the chrono on his wall, Kozen gestured in annoyance. "My time is important to me. Submit, or I'll be forced to pry the answers from you." He knew better than most the damage that could be done to a living mind under the emperor's influence. Kaeto still struggled with the nightmares from her months under Vitiate's control. She'd committed horrendous acts against the people of the galaxy as a lone Jedi. A woman with the backing of the alliance was infinitely more dangerous.

Fynta opened her mouth to argue, but Lana stopped her. "Kozen was an interrogator with the Empire before becoming the Emperor's Wrath. It's his gift in the Force, and painful if you resist."

The commander pinned Theron with a murderous glare that promised retribution, though Kozen found it peculiar that her ire didn't appear to extend towards Lana. Finally, she huffed and flopped into a chair. "Let's get this over with, then."

Kozen had poked at Fynta's subconscious a time or two in passing, but he'd found no footholds. Her thoughts were an ever shifting glass surface on which he could find no purchase. Kozen reached out now to touch every mind in the room, isolating the one he needed. Kaeto accepted his prodding, opening herself up to share the strength that he would need to penetrate Fynta's stubborn defenses.

Lana's mind was sealed to Kozen, and he dared not press against it. Kozen recognized the other Sith's presence and slid past her. Shan's brain sparked with electric greens, the implants designed to confuse a Force user by masking his thoughts with constantly firing neuron. Kozen was certain he could break through those defenses, however, not without killing the man.

Finally, Kozen came to Fynta. He met with the same impenetrable wall, now tinged with light blues. As soon as it appeared, it was sucked back into a black nothingness. Shutting his eyes, Kozen focused on the living heartbeats, nothing more than pulses swimming in his vision. He honed in on Fynta, then reached further into her mind. Stormy emotions whirled about in a cyclone of reds, blacks, and greens once he pierced the protective darkness that she'd wrapped herself in.

Fynta stirred uncomfortably, and Kozen felt her beginning to fight. "Be still," he commanded, surrounding the woman in a blanket of the Force to keep her motionless.

A string of curses flashed through Fynta's mind, but Kozen ignored them. Her rage fueled his power. Kozen could feel it burning through his veins, consuming everything until he was sure he must be engulfed in flames. Once, the sensation had been excruciating. Now, it was almost pleasurable.

"When did Havoc Squad enter your life?" Kozen asked in a calm voice.

A spark of acknowledgment, nothing more, but it was enough for Kozen to latch onto the thought. He allowed himself to be pulled into the torrent of ire and passion. The more aggressive the subject, the stronger Kozen's connection to the Force. The stronger his connection, the easier it was to pluck the answers he needed from another mind.

An unexpected weight pressed back on Kozen's mind; a barrier of sheer willpower.

The image of a soldier's military file appeared in Fynta's mind a second before being pulled under again. "Aric Jorgan," Kozen spoke out loud, hoping that the verbal reminder would open a door into her missing memories. He pushed harder, searching for any other connection to that name, but found only the fresh emotions of anger, guilt, and fear.

"Balic Cormac," Kozen tried again, and felt himself lurch forward.

Kozen sucked in a ragged gasp as his mind was pulled further into Fynta's against his will. He scrambled for purchase in her subconscious and found only oily blackness. Harsh laughter echoed around him, deep and foreboding. Kozen was only vaguely aware of Fynta's screams as he stared into the pale blue eyes of death.

"Vitiate," the Sith hissed.

Golden light flared, snatching Kozen from the nightmare. His eyes snapped open as he tipped backward from the shock of being forcefully pulled from Fynta's mind. Kaeto stood over him with an expression of concern, but she didn't touch him. Kozen sat up and realized that he was covered in sweat. Fynta was in no better condition. She hunched forward in her seat, shaking fingers hiding her face.

Suddenly exhausted, Kozen pushed onto balls of his feet next to Fynta's face. He glanced at Lana with a scowl. "The emperor lives; he's hollowed out a portion of her mind and claimed it for his own."

Fynta shot to her feet and slugged Theron's shoulder hard enough to stagger the man. The suddenness of the assault had Kozen on his feet in preparation of receiving the same, though Kaeto merely smirked. "I'm  _never_  doing that again," Fynta snarled, then stormed out of the room.

Silence followed their leader as the rest of the delegation digested the weight of this discovery. "How much control does he have?" Lana finally asked, eyes still on the door through which the commander had exited.

Kozen shook his head. "The emperor only lashed out when I tread too close to the memories of Havoc Squad. He's chosen them for a purpose, though that is still hidden from me." Kozen took a slow breath to steady his own pulse. "I do not believe he can manifest physically without Fynta's permission."

"That's it," Kaeto said, and Kozen felt a wave of sadness roll off her. "Valkorion has stolen Fynta's family; he's holding them hostage until she gives him whatever he desires."

Kozen stroked his chin. "That sounds logical, given that he doesn't have the strength to crush her mind. Yet."

Theron rubbed both hands over his face, then grabbed his comm. "Lana, we need to call another meeting."

"No," Lana responded, pushing Theron's hand down. "Let's keep this a secret for the time being. Just, until we know more." Theron looked ready to protest until she added. "She's angry right now, and in my experience, there is no better time to give Fynta a target."

Kozen folded his arms and nodded. "She'll focus that fury into tearing the Star Fortress apart." A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Fynta Wolfe would have made a truly terrifying Sith."

"Yes," Lana agreed. "Thank the Force for small victories."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a:**
> 
> palon'sheb - asshole  
> ade'al dalab - son of a bitch (loosely translated)


	13. Missed Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fynta is still angry, developments are made, and Havoc Squad lives up to its name. Also, the Star Fortress meets its match.

**Odessen  
** **Residential Sector**

Hirani gathered her discarded clothing from the floor, startling Koth from a light doze. He inhaled to clear the fog from his mind, then blinked a few times to focus on the Twi'lek. Her pink hue ghosted through the shadows, and he smirked when she let out a quiet curse when she stubbed her toe.

"Not going to say goodbye?"

Hirani froze, one leg halfway into her trousers. Koth folded his hands behind his head, grinning at the way her spine straightened. He could almost see her filtering through the various excuses. His Twi'lek lover wasn't nearly the accomplished liar she thought herself to be. Not that he'd give up that advantage to her.

"I didn't want to wake you," Hirani admitted, and she sounded convincing. "You looked so adorable with spit dribbling down your chin."

Koth resisted the urge to run the back of his hand across his face. He was almost certain there was nothing in his beard. "Wouldn't bother me," Koth responded with a shrug. "But, I think by this point in our," he paused when Hirani shot him a warning glare. " _Partnership_ , that we'd be beyond sneaking out of each other's rooms." Though Hirani never admitted to it, Koth knew that someone in her past had done her wrong. Even the mention of commitment sent her scurrying.

"Habit?" Hirani replied sweetly. She sighed and flopped onto the end of the bed when Koth didn't take the bait. "Fine. I'm flying the commander out to the Sky Fortress, and I figured you'd go all protective on me." Koth tried to hide the cringe that naturally accompanied any discussion of her taking dangerous missions. He'd learned a long time ago that Hirani was independent, dangerously so. The more he said  _no_ , the faster she flew towards whatever they'd argued over.

Rolling into a sitting position, Koth wrapped his arms around Hirani from behind and tugged her backward in a squeal of laughter. Skiva, he loved that sound. Koth nuzzled along her neck, still finding the way her lekku twitched and curled around his bicep odd. He carefully avoided her ear cone, though. They had always been strictly off limits, though she'd never mentioned why.

"Just be careful." Koth nipped at Hirani's shoulder before releasing her.

The Twi'lek scrambled off the bed, smacking Koth with a pillow in the process. He snatched the projectile from her grasp and tucked it behind his head with a triumphant grin. "I like her, but that Outlander seems like a handful. Theron and Lana always look on the verge of rupturing an artery." Granted, Koth didn't have the responsibility of keeping Fynta in line. His job was to fly the Gravestone and get drinks with the woman. Two things he did well.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Hirani huffed while pulling on her boots. "She's just one woman." Koth watched the thin line of pink flesh between her shirt and pants grow when she bent forward. From the research he'd done on Twi'lek, because who wouldn't try to find out as much about a new species as possible when sex entered the equation, they were usually willowy things. The females, at least. Hirani had the look of well-fed royalty, voluptuous was probably the safest word for it. Thick in the middle, plump ass, and breasts that gave Koth plenty of options.

Koth dragged himself back to the conversation with effort. "She managed to kill the Emperor," he reminded Hirani. He left out the part where Valkorion was living inside her head. Fynta was adamant about that remaining a secret.

Personally, Koth didn't see the problem, and wished Fynta would heed Valkorion's advice. He'd finally learned not to say such things in front of the others, though. These strangers just didn't get it. Koth steered the conversation back to the commander. "And, I've seen her in action. It's damn impressive."

Hirani snorted, then looked over her shoulder. "You thought I was pretty impressive last night. Should I be worried?"

Koth grinned. "You should know better by now." After being with Hirani for the last few years, Koth wasn't sure he ever wanted to touch another woman, human or otherwise. He pointedly didn't ask for her feelings on the matter, or what she got up to while on runs for the Alliance.

"Yeah, yeah." Hirani stood and tugged on her spacer's jacket. Koth watched her holster the two, pink blasters, then wiggle her hips to make sure they didn't shift. That was his favorite part of watching her suit up. "Alright, I've got a big shot to ferry around. I'll see you when I see you."

Koth sat up when Hirani leaned over the bed to give him a kiss. He lifted one of her lekku, letting it slide through his fingers when she pulled back. "Yeah, when I see you."

**The Petulant Bitch**  
**On Approach to the  
** **Star Fortress above Alderaan**

"We'll infiltrate here." Fynta pointed to the small holomap on Theron's datapad. It was the final tweak to mission specifics, and she knew that Theron wouldn't approve of the changes she'd made. "Then, you hang back, and let my guys do their job."

Fynta still seethed with anger. She bit off every word while reminding herself not to take it out on her squad. If Theron had kept his nose out of her business, this whole situation could have been avoided. Sure, that left a husband out there who thought she was dead, but Fynta wasn't certain that was a bad thing. The man was better off, probably relieved. Now, Theron's meddling had given Valkorion a foothold in her life that hadn't existed before.

To his credit, Theron acted like nothing had happened. Not the intrusion into Fynta's quarters, her memory loss, or the fact that she'd struck him when Kozen finally released her. Theron trudged on with the mission, giving nothing away. Though, Fynta didn't miss the occasional sideways glances he threw her way.

_This isn't his fault,_  Fynta reminded herself. Theron made an easy target because they knew one another well enough not to take the abuse personally. They'd been each other's punching bag for years. It was the only reason she'd struck out at him; he was used to it. That, and Lana could throw Fynta across the room with her mind. Fynta was over that osik.

"Once we effect entry," she continued, but her words were cut off by Theron.

"Wait a minute." Theron sat forward to point at Fynta, exactly as anticipated. "I thought we decided that I was going all the way on this one. Hirani has the ship; there's no need for me to stay behind."

Fynta knew the truth. Theron didn't trust her anymore. He wanted to be present in case the undead nuisance in her mind made a mess of things. She retaliated with a punch hard enough to knock him into the chair. Fynta might have enjoyed it more than she should have. The shabuir cared about her on some level, and she supposed that she returned the sentiment, but nothing could squelch the anger rolling through her.

The former spy grasped his chest and leveled Fynta with a murderous glare. She leaned over the small table to finger the collar of his gaudy, red jacket. "Blasters hit a lot harder than me, and you aren't wearing proper armor."

Fynta raised a gauntlet to repeat the lesson, but Theron held his hands up. "Okay, point taken." Rubbing his sternum, Theron refused to be silenced. "But, I've worked in the field just as long. Don't forget who trained you."

"Not on the front lines," Fynta countered. She'd been ready for Theron's argument since coming to the decision to leave him behind. "The Star Fortress will be heavily fortified with guards and droids who are trained to kill. Not capture. Get some proper armor, then maybe we'll talk."

"Fine," Theron muttered, crossing his arms in sullen defeat. They glared at one another for a long moment before he pushed to his feet. "I'm going to check in with the pilot. Behave yourself."

Fynta waited until Theron had vanished before taking a steadying breath. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this close to snapping, and wondered if Valkorion was manipulating her emotions after all. Before she could think too much on the topic, Felix snapped his fingers to pull their attention back to the image. "We going in as one, or splitting up?"

Years of sitting through peace conferences as Master Carlo's bodyguard had served the man well. Iresso had a calming demeanor, something Fynta lacked at present. "We operate as a single unit until circumstances force us to do otherwise," she answered, grateful for the man's level headedness. Fynta needed to stay on track to earn the trust of her men. "I'll be honest, I have no idea what to expect in there. We'll have to play this one by ear. If anyone is uncomfortable with that, speak now and stay behind."

Silence followed Fynta's challenge. "Alright everyone, final checks on gear, then it's go time." She dismissed her men and settled into a chair to fiddle with one of the straps that still gave her trouble from time to time. Koth swore that she'd get the hang of them, but so far, Fynta remained unconvinced.

Iresso flopped into the chair next to Fynta, smiling while she cursed her armor. "This will be one for the history books, don't you think?"

Fynta quirked an eyebrow at him. "You never struck me as one for the limelight."

The man chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. "Everyone wants to be remembered for something. It's making sure that it isn't for something  _stupid_  that's the hard part."

Fynta scowled at her vibroknife, hiding behind the guise of checking for sharpness. "Thinly veiled advice?" She kept her gaze forward, afraid of the disappointment Iresso's dark eyes might hold.

Iresso's smile grew, but stopped short of displaying teeth. "Just a friendly reminder that I've got your back." He patted Fynta's leg plate before standing to gather his weapons.

Fynta's heart rate increased at the friendly reminder. She still wore the leather band that made that same vow. For some reason, Fynta had been hesitant to remove it, treating like a good luck charm. Now, it felt too tight. Where once the bracer had been invisible, Felix's promise brought it to the forefront of her mind.

Fynta tore at her gauntlet in an attempt to remove the unwelcomed accessory. She'd nearly succeeded when Hirani's voice came over the intercom. " _Time to suit up, people. We're here."_  Fynta's chest squeezed uncomfortably. There wasn't time, she had no choice but to fight through the distraction.

**Havoc Squad  
** **Orbit Above Alderaan**

Tauntauns, bantha, icetrompers, and thrantas had nothing on diving through an atmosphere in a single man pod. Jorgan should never have let Abbeth talk him into this. He snarled, tucking his arms closer to his body when the glowing walls singed his glove. These pods weren't meant for the kind of stress that Havoc had demanded of them, but it was all they could come up with to get past the Star Fortress.

Torg cursed a second before something slammed into Jorgan's pod, throwing him against the restraints.  _I'll see you soon, Fynta_ , the Cathar thought, preparing himself for a violent end. Metallic groaning vibrated through Jorgan's teeth as increased gravity pressed in on all sides. The pod jerked again, then leveled off. An alarm chirped to announce that the parachute had successfully deployed.

Jorgan let out a steady breath and peeked one eye open to read the altimeter. Against all odds, he'd survived. After a bittersweet moment of realization that he wouldn't see his wife yet, Jorgan reminded himself that there was still a Sith to kill. "Sound off," he croaked, then cleared his throat in an attempt sound more confident. "Is everyone alright?"

The major counted the voices, satisfied that the rest of his squad was still alive, if not coherent. It felt like an eternity before the pod struck solid ground. Jorgan all but fell through the door when it released. He took deep breaths to settle his stomach, hands braced on knees, and noticed everyone else doing the same.

"Shab." Cormac staggered out of the brush, wiping a trembling hand across his mouth. "Let's not do that ever again. I mean it,  _ever_  again." Jorgan agreed, although, he bet Fynta would have demanded a second go, probably just to see if she could beat her own time.

Fynta had invaded Jorgan's thoughts more than usual in the last week. He wondered if it had anything to do with Shillet's probing questions. The girl wanted to join Havoc Squad one day, so Kanner had introduced her to Fynta's file. Of course, the young Nautolan saw it as a benchmark, instead of a goal. Jorgan missed the dreams that had plagued him for five years. He never realized how fragile memories were until even the most basic details evaded him without looking at Fynta's image.

"At least Torg's aim has improved," Xaban clipped while checking her lekku for charring. "I'm with the big guy, though. Next time, I'll walk." Havoc had dropped deep in the wilderness not only to evade notice, but to limit collateral damage.

Giving himself a shake, Jorgan gave the rest of the squad another minute to steady themselves before hefting his rifle. "We need to move, people. Time to pull it together and get on with our objective."

Jorgan activated the link to their personal shuttle. "Torg, you copy?" Silence answered. The Kaleesh would be out of comms reach until he figured out how to extract them, but it never hurt to test the waters. The Star Fortress scrambled all unauthorized signals within the planet, making a coordinated rebellion nearly impossible.

"Sir." Kanner's helmet tipped, a sign that she was trying to get a lock on an unexpected development. "I'm picking up some sporadic chatter, they're saying some weird stuff."

"Patch me in." Jorgan gave the order to move out while he waited.

" _Target in sight, want me to ram the front door, or you got a plan?"_  A woman asked in a high pitched voice. If it hadn't been for the cadence that spoke of a criminal's swagger, Jorgan might have thought they had intercepted a group of school children.

" _Looks like the delicate approach this time, drop us at these coordinates,"_ a male with an Imperial accent replied. Others chattered in the background, but it was little more than a garbled hum.

Jorgan pulled the squad to a halt while he listened, but the voices faded into static, then vanished completely. "Stay alert, the Imperials might have an op in progress. Kanner, keep an ear on that to make sure it won't affect us."

"What if it isn't the Imps?" Cormac asked.

Jorgan sighed. Balic wanted to believe that there were still heroes out there, and in the alliance that had proven to be a thorn in Arcann's side. "Everyone switch to the secondary frequency," Jorgan ordered, ignoring Cormac's question for now. "Stay off that channel."

The lines clicked as Xaban and Abbeth obeyed, leaving Cormac as the last one. Jorgan knew that the man went grudgingly, but he followed orders in the end. Jorgan opened a second line, enabling him to listen to both. "Actually, I'll take over monitoring, Kanner. You focus on the mission."

Kanner hesitated. "You're sure?" No doubt she and Cormac would plan another intervention for Aric later. The two barely left him alone anymore, both concerned about the sudden halt to his dreams. Any action that they viewed outside of his normal behavior was subjected to intense scrutiny.

"Positive. The Sith we're after is nasty business," Jorgan answered. "I want all of you on task tonight."

**The Petulant Bitch  
** **Star Fortress above Alderaan**

"Looks like you found activity," Theron commented, face inches from the screen. "Stay on your toes."

" _Yeah, thanks for that,"_  Fynta growled. Her squad had infiltrated the Star Fortress with ease, and had yet to run into anything they couldn't handle. Even being from different walks of life, the four soldiers plowed through waves of Skytroopers like they'd trained together for years.

Theron had worked with other SIS agents before, including Fynta back in the day. It rarely went this smoothly. Maybe it had to do with the comradery of soldiering, but he couldn't help but hope that Fynta's ability to mesh with this squad meant that some of the growth from her Havoc days couldn't be wiped away.

Given that Akaavi had proven to be as adept with technology as she claimed, Theron's job had been relatively easy. It gave him time to think, which afforded his brain the opportunity to come up with, and reject, at least a dozen ideas for getting Fynta's memories back. He knew the lack of control had to be eating at her. Worse yet was that she hadn't even realized a part of her was gone. Who knew how long it would have taken to realize it had Theron not walked in on her and the Twi'lek.

Speaking of which, Theron leaned back in his chair to ensure that Hirani was nowhere in hearing range, then tilted forward to activate Fynta's private line. "I need to ask you something."

Blaster fire answered before the commander did. " _You choose the worst times to have a heart to heart, you know that?"_

Theron rolled his eyes. "Please, you used to carry on complete planning sessions while storming Imperial facilities. You and Verin wouldn't shut up on Korriban, even Cinlat yelled at you." Fynta chuckled, which Theron took as a good sign. He still wouldn't put it past her to shoot him in the ass, but it was progress towards mending their friendship.

Taking a breath, Theron forged ahead. "So listen, now that we know what's going on with you, we need to discuss the fallout where Jorgan is concerned. He's not going to take, the incident, lightly." Fynta huffed loud enough that it registered over the speakers. Theron knew that she didn't want to discuss Havoc Squad, but contingencies needed to be made, and he wasn't doing anything at the moment.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Theron continued. "So, what I'm asking is, how bad is it?"

" _Are you asking if I'm still a carbonite virgin?"_  Theron heard the grin in Fynta's voice. Her ability to switch from irritable, to irritating, was awe inspiring in the worst way.

Rolling his eyes, Theron snorted. "You're such as ass."

Fynta chuckled again, but it sounded forced this time. Theron heard the crunch of metal, and glanced at her POV in time to see the electrified bayonet rip free of a Skytrooper's power core. He hoped that the commander wasn't picturing him in place of the droid, and winced when she stabbed it again. " _If it'll help you sleep at night, then yes. You barged in before we got to the good part. Happy?"_

_Not really,_  Theron thought. Outwardly, he allowed relief to flood his voice. "Good, then the situation can still be salvaged." A light blipped on, and Theron pulled up the indicated schematic. "Getting some big power readings from below you. You should look into that."

" _We'll get around to it,"_  Fynta answered. Theron knew that the previous conversation had been tabled, and he doubted if she'd ever speak of it again. Fynta hesitated in severing her private line. " _Hey, I'm picking up some feedback from the surface. Do we have crew down there?"_

Theron's chair slid along the track that gave him access to the monitor tracking planetary communications. Hirani was supposed to have that station, but the Twi'lek had wandered off. "Not that I know of," he answered. "I'll check it out and get back to you. Maybe the relief effort is working on something, I think they've got a base on this planet."

A light jingling drew Theron's attention towards the seating area. He leaned around the surveillance equipment to find Hirani balanced on the back of a mounted sofa, stuffing a set of windchimes into the ventilation system. "Do I even want to know?"

The Twi'lek flashed a devilish grin, secured the vent, then hopped off the couch with a solid landing. "That leads to the 'freshers. It'll take Koth weeks to figure out where the sound is coming from."

Theron raised an eyebrow. "Is that what he's always complaining about?" The man in question had returned from more than one mission with Hirani ranting about  _those damn bells_.

"Windchimes," Hirani boasted, shooing Theron away from her terminal. "Cheapest torture in the galaxy."

"I seriously question your relationship values." The sound of a hand cannon drew Theron's attention back to the mission. He stopped in front of the monitor covering the assault team in time to hear an automated voice warn that the  _Praetorian unit_  had been deployed.

All humor vanished when a two and a half meter tall Skytrooper landed hard enough to disrupt each soldier's video feed. " _Fierfek,"_  Fynta spat, bringing her rifle to bare. " _Open fire!"_

**Havoc Squad**   
**Thul Territory**

"Hey, Kanner." Cormac's line clicked to alert that she'd answered his private hail, but the woman didn't speak. The silence had a wary note to it, like she knew what he wanted. "I need a favor."

Kanner sighed. "You want me to defy the major's order, don't you?"

"Aren't you a  _little_ curious," Cormac asked, sneaking through the shadows of a hedgerow behind Abbeth. "It sounded like something big was about to go down. Who else do you know that would have the balls to stage an offensive on Alderaan?"

Kanner remained silent, but Cormac had been doing some serious thinking. He bet it was the Alliance, and that they had come to liberate his homeworld. Where there was an Alliance attack, information on the Outlander could usually be found. If his theory was correct, they were as close to learning the woman's identity as they'd ever be. Cormac  _needed_  to know.

"Jorgan locked me out," Kanner finally answered. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, but you know a way back in." The words were out of Balic's mouth before he could stop them, and he winced at how desperate he sounded. It was too late, Cormac was committed. "Hear me out. You know as well as I do that Jorgan hates how this squad is being used. I bet if he knew who the Outlander was, it would give him hope that this galaxy isn't doomed."

The sound of Kanner's breathing as she grappled with an opponent let Balic know that the line was still open. She replied shortly after it grew quiet again. "Because you think it's Colonel Wolfe?" Cormac chose to ignore the accusation in the woman's voice.

"Partially," Cormac admitted. "Also, because I believe that the Outlander is a good person. If we could make Jorgan see it, then maybe Havoc Squad could finally do some good in this shabla galaxy." There had been a time in Cormac's life where all he'd wanted was to defeat the Empire. Since Arcann had laid waste to a large chunk of the galaxy, the Empire didn't feel like such a threat anymore.

Cormac paused behind a guard, waiting for Kanner's answer before he attacked. The woman mumbled an unintelligible curse, and Balic grinned. "Don't make me regret this."

Before Cormac could answer, his speakers hissed, and Kanner's private icon went dark. Balic readied his blade and crept behind a man in Imperial colors. He'd always hated this part, having to silence their enemies up close to avoid premature discovery. Placing his hand across the target's faceplate, Cormac wrenched the man's head back to slide the blade across the guard's throat. The man jerked, grasping at Cormac's arm instead of his weapon, then went limp.

Balic suppressed a shiver as he wiped his blade on the dead guard's uniform and turned to find Abbeth. These ops were messy and hard to clean up after. Not to mention, being covered in his victim's blood sat heavy in his chest for a few days after.

Cormac refused to look at the body lying at his feet, and nearly tripped over it when his speakers crackled life with a woman shouting orders over the sounds of what must have been a massive cannon. Cormac's heart sped up to the point that he couldn't breathe. Her words raced through his mind on repeat. Just two of them, but Fynta had been in his ear for nearly six years. He'd know her voice anywhere.

"Jorgan, Cormac, are you okay?" Abbeth cut in. "Your heart rates are unusually high."

Cormac ignored the Kel'dor and opened a private line to Jorgan. "You heard it too." It wasn't a question. Balic had proof that he wasn't insane. Only one woman could set Jorgan's heart to racing, regardless of whether the grumpy bastard wanted to admit it. He couldn't fight biology.

Jorgan's answer came out as a growl. "Stay off that frequency, Cormac. I won't tell you again."

Balic couldn't believe that anyone could be so damn stubborn. His temper flared. "But Aric, that's-"

"That's an order," Jorgan finished in a snarl before severing contact. How could the man dismiss the possibility of Fynta being alive? If that was Elara, Cormac would travel through the Void just to see if she was on the other side. There was nothing he wouldn't risk: life, career, reputation, if it meant the possibility of holding his wife. Yet, Jorgan recklessly threw this chance away.

Cormac growled in frustration. It took every ounce of training he had not to tell the man off. Even more so when Jorgan opened the squad line with a casual tone that Balic knew to be a lie. "Front door's open, Havoc. Time to kill a Sith."

_Fine,_  Cormac thought, priming his slugthrower.  _But, when we're through here, you and I are going to have a long chat._

**The Petulant Bitch  
Orbit above Alderaan**

Hirani looked over Theron's shoulder to see what had the spy so captivated. The image was tiny, but he refused to route through her ship. That only increased the Twi'lek's interest.

Four soldiers ran down a hallway, leaving destruction in their wake. Hirani leaned on the back of Theron's chair, ignoring his grumbles about her lekku smacking him in the back of the head, and wondered what made these soldiers more important than their mission. Neither paid attention to the strike team on the Star Fortress anymore, but Theron kept the volume up in case of trouble.

" _No prisoners,"_  Fynta ordered. Hirani glanced over to see that Akaavi had winged one of the guards instead of killing him. " _These guys won't break. Take them out and move on."_

Hirani turned her attention back to Theron's datapad, bored with the assault on the superweapon. The strike had lost any entertaining value after the third floor. How did soldiers manage to do the same thing in every hallway? Scout, shoot, scout, shoot. Over and over, with little variation in the pattern. Hirani had seen her fair share of war. Hell, she had been a kid when the Empire and Republic went toe to toe, then not much older when the Eternal Throne took over. It always looked the same.

"They are going to need a quick evac," Theron observed without looking up. "Have you got a plan for that?"

"Several," Hirani responded, deftly sidestepping the agent's attempts to be rid of her. Actually, she only had one. Get them out if she could, and book it if she couldn't. Theron didn't need those details, though. Her job specifications were to deliver a team capable of destroying the Star Fortress. No one said anything about retrieving them at the expense of her own life.

Theron's brows furrowed, and he leaned closer to the datapad. Hirani did too, squinting to better see the insignia that he'd zoomed in on. "Shit," Theron swore. "This is bad timing."

"What is?" Hirani asked. She didn't recognize the markings on the soldiers' armor. Theron battled one of her tattooed lekku out of the way when it slipped over both their shoulders to block his view. She jabbed a finger into his cheek to pester an answer out of him. "Is that on the surface?"

"Yeah." Theron grimaced, then ran a hand down his face and blew air through his lips. Hirani knew it had to be bad when he failed to comment on her prodding.

When the spy didn't elaborate, Hirani poked him again. "What are they doing?"

This time, the former spy glared at Hirani. "They're on Thul property. Best guess, taking out an Imperial target." Theron focused in on the biggest soldier. She had always thought that bulky durasteel looked tacky, but there were some who wore it well. Hirani liked those; they generally liked her too.

"Of all the kriffing times," Theron muttered, still refusing to submit to Hirani's interrogation. She hated being left out of the loop, especially with something that so clearly aggravated a spy. Finally, Theron looked over his shoulder and sighed. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Depends, from who?" Hirani asked, standing up to cross her arms.

Theron nodded at the screen displaying the strike team. They had finally made it to the center of the Star Fortress, and looked to be wiring the main console to blow. "The commander," he answered. "I'll make it worth your while."

A sly grin split Hirani's face. The only thing better than being privy to classified information was being able to hold it over someone who outranked her. "Honey, that alone guarantees my loyalty." Until she got a better offer, of course.

**The Outlander  
** **Decent to Alderaan Surface**

" _Commander, I've got that intel for you,"_ Theron announced. He'd been abnormally quiet throughout the last leg of the mission, barely any sarcasm, and only responding when called on.

The Star Fortress was officially out of commission thanks to some impressive pyrotechnics on Pierce's part. They'd hightailed it to an escape pod when it became obvious that Hirani wouldn't have time to grab them before the entire platform went up in what the big Imperial dubbed,  _fiery glory_.

"Go ahead," Fynta responded, steering the pod towards the coordinates that Akaavi had provided. The shuttle shook beneath her hands upon atmospheric entry, and Fynta grit her teeth in an effort to hold it steady.

" _Looks like local Organa resistance is taking down a Sith target just below us in Thul territory."_ Theron's voice sounded too casual, but Fynta didn't have the focus to devote to parsing out why.

Gripping the steering column, Fynta silently wished the Organa's luck and turned her attention towards the comm system where that same household had finally granted them permission for an emergency landing. Just as Fynta released a sigh of relief, debris from the battle station struck the stabilizers and sent them into a tailspin. Cursing, Fynta used every trick she knew to put the craft right again.

When they finally leveled out, Fynta demanded a sitrep from the rest of the squad. "How's Pierce holding up?" She yelled back at Felix, who had the larger man pinned to the floor while Akaavi performed first aid.

Pierce had taken the Knight droid's saberstaff across the thigh during the final battle. It had done a number on his armor, not to mention the flesh beneath. The man weighed a shabbing ton, and cursed the entire time Akaavi and Iresso carried him toward the escape pod. Fynta had felt useless, designating herself the pilot in order to keep out of the others' way.

"He's stable," Felix replied. "But, not friendly."

"Pierce, suck it up and take your meds, or so help me, I'll shoot the other leg," Fynta ordered.

The clouds parted to display a dark canopy of trees below. The rising sun reflected off the viewport, flashing into Fynta's eyes. She turned away with a hiss and her vision flickered, leaving her standing in a control room, shouting at a massive soldier in beskar'gam.

_"Get back to the ship, that's an order." A console sparked beneath Fynta's hands, and she snatched them back to avoid the colorful flames sprouting within._

_"There is nothing else you can do, Fynta," a deep voice snarled in her ear. "Get back here before you get yourself killed." A sense of anger overwhelmed her that the speaker would dare subvert her orders. There was something important that needed to be done, and he wouldn't keep her from it._

_"I'm not leaving until everyone is out of their cell," Fynta growled back at the man. Her gaze turned slowly, settling on the soldier at her back. "I told you to get to the ship; shift your shebs!"_

"Commander!"

The world shook and Fynta realized that Iresso had grasped her shoulders. She no longer held the steering console, and they'd veered towards the side of a mountain. Fynta wrestled the shuttle in the correct direction and intentionally kept her eyes off the man standing by her side.

"Theron, I'm forwarding landing stats. Get down here for a pick up," Fynta hailed, trying to cover-whatever that had been-by affection an authoritative tone. "The big idiot needs to be casevaced, and we can't leave him here."

" _Yeah, we're on our way,"_ Theron responded. " _The Organa's are going to be in enough trouble for letting us land. I wasn't able to knock out their cameras, so Arcann's people will know we were here."_ The following pause said everything that Theron didn't. They needed to bug out immediately to reduce the blowback on Alderaan.

"We'll be sure to post an envoy to keep us apprised of the situation." Taking action settled Fynta's pounding heart only slightly. She told herself that the rapid pulse was due to excess amounts of adrenaline, the after effects of dealing a major blow to her enemy. But, part of her mind clung stubbornly to the truth.

Fynta shook the feeling away. "Alderaan won't be left to stand alone."

**Havoc Squad  
** **Organa Estate**

Havoc Squad limped into the Organa outpost in a stolen speeder that had taken heavy fire during their escape from Thul territory. The sun had just crested the horizon when Jorgan managed to get rendezvous coordinates from Torg. The Kaleesh stood next to Havoc's shuttle with arms crossed and bone mask intent on the crowd milling around a freighter.

"I think that's them," Torg said when his companions joined him. "The ones who took out the Star Fortress." Jorgan lifted his eyes to take in the spectacular sight of debris burning through the upper atmosphere. It would take a platform that large days to fully break up.

"Looks like they suffered casualties," Xaban added from her position further up the ramp. Jorgan joined her in time to see a man limping into the freighter with the aid of a companion. He glanced at Cormac, who visibly tensed.

Shaking himself, the big man smacked a hand on top of Jorgan's boot from where he waited on the ground. "We should go say thanks."

Jorgan considered denying Cormac's request, but given the surly disposition that the man had clung to throughout the mission, figured it would only make matters worse. "Fine, but not too close. If they have injured, we'll only get in the way." His heart skipped a beat when a memory of the woman's voice drifted through his mind.  _Lots of women sound like Fynta under duress_ , Jorgan rationalized.  _It doesn't mean she's alive._

Jorgan grappled with the hope that tried to blossom in his chest. After so many years, he'd finally compressed the pain of losing his wife into a manageable ache. It had nearly destroyed his career the last time he dared to believe that she was alive, and Jorgan didn't think he'd survive it again.

Pulling off his helmet, Jorgan scrubbed a hand over his head to fix the fur that had been flattened against his skull. He wanted to look somewhat presentable when Havoc greeted the team that had prevailed where no one else dared to strike.

A man's voice rang out over the crowd when the squad approached. "Back! Get Back!" The marsheller waved his arms while the freighter's turbines came to life. "Either get back, or get fried!" Jorgan stopped at the outer edge, instructing his squad to stay put.

Xaban chuckled, then slapped Torg's shoulder with the back of her hand and nodded to the ship's ID. " _The Petulant Bitch_ , bet that's a fun crew." Torg's replied was lost in the roar of the freighter's engines.

Movement caught Jorgan's attention when a man in Republic armor ran towards the ship. Another figure waited, a woman judging by her stature and the way she planted her feet at the man's approach. She held out an arm as he jumped onto the lifting ramp to haul him up. Then, the two vanished inside.

A second later, Alderaan's saviors were gone. Jorgan squeezed Cormac's shoulder. "Sorry, maybe next time."

"Who was that?" Xaban asked one of the bystanders. He was a small man, and Jorgan realized that they were looking at none other that Palos Organa, the nephew who'd given Havoc so much trouble in the search for Gearbox all those years ago.

The nobleman puffed out his chest. "That was the Outlander," he replied with the same air of superiority that he'd held back then. "Alderaan is free."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fynta's flashback is from **chapter 19: Chaos** in _Family is More Than Blood_. I realize that not everyone reading this story started at the beginning, so I'll try to point you in the right direction when it comes to flashbacks and intruding memories if you're interested in a highlights reel.
> 
> Also, the windchimes idea came from a post on Tumblr in which my joke about Hirani hiding them all over the ship garnered so much love, that I had to make it a part of the story.
> 
> **Mando'a:**  
>  Shabla - screwed up


	14. Boiling Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions run hot after a critical mission, and inner thoughts are laid bare with both Havoc Squad and on Odessen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, massive shout out to Dimigex for helping me angst through this. She made this chapter 100% better.

**Havoc Squad  
** **Republic Military Vessel #2287**

Jorgan oversaw the jump to hyperspace before heading towards the showers. Unlike the  _Thunderclap_ , this shuttle's refreshers were tiny, so tiny that only two people could wash at any given time. He'd set up a roster to keep things organized, but arguments still broke out from time to time.

Cormac waited outside, towel in hand, when Aric approached. The opened door revealed Kanner and Xaban, lost in conversation. Without their armor, Kanner looked fragile next to the Twi'lek's bulkier form. Xaban's biceps were nearly as large as Cormac's, and the arm wrestling vendetta between he and Vik had naturally transferred to her.

Jorgan and Cormac stepped into the already steamy room. There weren't stalls, just two sinks, toilets, and spigots. No privacy and minimal hot water meant that the freshers weren't quite the social hub they'd been when Fynta commanded Havoc. Jorgan smirked at the thought of what Fynta would say about their circumstances, then instantly regretted letting his mind wander.

Jorgan turned on the lukewarm water and scrubbed at the dirt and sweat that had accumulated in his fur. He had nearly finished when a meaty thud against metal broke the silence.

Cormac shook his fist as it fell away from the wall. "Shab, we were  _so_ close."

Risking a glance over his shoulder, Jorgan noticed his friend's eyes squeezed shut. Cormac must have been talking about Elara. His wife had been called away during a comms blackout, leaving Balic with no clue when he'd talk to his family again.

Jorgan opened his mouth to offer encouragement, then snapped it shut when he realized what the words actually meant. It wasn't Dorne Cormac was talking about, but Fynta. Sympathy washed over Aric. Cormac still believed that Fynta was alive, despite every evidence to the contrary. The man tortured himself with  _what-if_  scenarios.

Cormac had already convinced himself, and half the squad, that Fynta was planetside by the time they intercepted that damned transmission. Of course, it sounded like her. Cormac  _wanted_ it to be Fynta, and the mind could play cruel tricks on a person.

Sighing, Jorgan turned off the water. "It wasn't her," he ground out, retrieving his clothes. There was no way say it kindly or soften the blow; facts were facts. "She's gone."

Cormac rounded on Jorgan, jerking his towel from its hook with enough force to rip the corner. "She's your wife for fierfek's sake." Cormac's hands balled into fists as his eyes flicked to Jorgan's neck. "Why are you so eager to forget her?"

Caught off guard by the hostility in his friend's eyes, Jorgan couldn't form a response. Balic's nostrils flared. He took a step towards Jorgan and grabbed at the chain resting against the Cathar's chest. "Do you even think about her anymore?"

Anger surged through Jorgan as he knocked Cormac's hand away. "I'm done discussing this with you." It had been a hell of a day. The last thing he needed was to be reminded that his wife wasn't here.  _Again_.

Growling under his breath, Jorgan turned to leave. A strong hand closed around his biceps and hauled the Cathar back. "No, you're going to listen to me this time," Cormac snarled.

Jorgan ripped his arm free from Cormac's grasp. One look at his friend's livid expression had Aric calculating the risks involved with a fight in the 'freshers. The slick floor and sharp appliances could lead to catastrophic injuries that couldn't be taken back.

"Can you hear yourself, vod?" Cormac's voice held a pleading note, despite the fury radiating off of him. "Everything points to Fynta being alive, but you don't want to see it."

Jorgan pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to give in to Cormac's delusions. Fynta was gone, and no amount of wishful thinking would change that. When Jorgan made a move toward the door, the big man squared his shoulders, drawing up to his full height. Jorgan hadn't thought about how much larger Balic was in a long time. "You can't even say it, can you?"

"Say what?" Jorgan's voice rumbled low in his throat. Regardless the differences in their statures, he wouldn't hesitate to end whatever altercation Cormac started. As commander, he couldn't afford to have his men question him, even on something like this. It was a short jump to disobeying his orders in the field.

Cormac crossed his arms, taking up more space. "I want you to claim Fynta as your wife."

Jorgan seethed. He almost hoped that Cormac struck out. At least then, he'd have a physical release for the fury rising in him. "I know who she was."

The confession washed over Jorgan like ice water despite the steamy room. He saw Fynta clearly, blue eyes shining with a hunger for battle. How many times had Aric dragged her away from a fight because the violence fed some dark part of her soul? How many times had he stopped her from doing something she would regret in a moment of anger? Fynta had once called him her conscience, the thing that kept her from going too far. Now, she was his.

Taking a step back, Jorgan reminded himself that Cormac wasn't the enemy. The big man followed, jabbing a finger into Jorgan's chest. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you  _really_ think she's dead." After a heartbeat, he continued. "You can't do it, can you?"

Jorgan swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying to find the words. As the silence strained, he realized how tired he was. Tired of mourning and denying his pain. Tired of trying to be the leader that Fynta was. Tired of being disappointed time and time again when he couldn't find any sign of her.

Rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, Jorgan sighed. "Balic—"

"You know what, I don't want to hear it," the big man interrupted before Jogan could get the words out. Cormac paced both directions across the small room, throwing his arms in the air with disgust. "If that were Elara, I'd be searching every square inch of this galaxy to find her. Proof of death, proof of life, anything is better than this."

"Yeah? And, where is your wife right now?" Cormac's face crumpled, the steam of his anger giving way to hurt. Jorgan regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, but the accusation that he didn't care about Fynta struck a nerve so raw that it stole his common sense.

Recovering his composure, Cormac shoved away from Jorgan hard enough to stagger the Cathar backward. "No, I haven't got a shabbing clue. You know why? Because I chose to stay and watch your back, to honor Fynta. Because  _I_ haven't forgotten her."

Cormac shouldered past Jorgan without a backward glance, slamming his hand into the wall plate to shut the door. As the silence descended, Jorgan warred with himself. He should go after his friend and try to settle this before it got out of hand, but guilt stayed his feet.

No one knew that Aric whispered Fynta's name every night before allowing sleep to claim him. He couldn't share that with the squad. The new soldiers could never see what an emotional disaster their commander was. If Aric paused long enough to consider living the average Cathar lifespan without his mate, he'd crack. Then, command could finally be rid of him.

Banishing the thoughts, Jorgan stalked through the small ship to his alcove and jerked the curtain closed. He paced for half a dozen strides, then sank onto his bed and activated the biolock on his trunk. Jorgan lifted Fynta's helmet from the jumbled mess and dusted it off. The emotionless faceplate stared back until his eyes blurred with unshed tears. There had been a time when he could read her expression by the slant of her helmet. Now, it was nothing more than an empty husk from a life that he barely remembered.

Sighing, Jorgan returned the memento to its resting place and flopped onto his back. He squeezed his eyes shut, fingers idly rolling the small, white stone of Fynta's necklace.

A memory sprang into Aric's mind, one that hadn't tormented him in years. He and Fynta had been in the apartment on Nar Shaddaa, tangled in partially shed clothing. Fynta straddled his hips, and when she leaned forward for a kiss, the jewel swung forward to pop him in the head. Jorgan had growled something about taking the thing off until they finished, but Fynta had only laughed that she could make him forget his protests.

Jorgan opened his eyes, hoping to banish the memory of warm skin beneath his hands. His fist tightened around the trinket that Fynta had loved so much until the stone bruised his palm. Jorgan exhaled and released the necklace before he broke it.  _If you're still alive, why haven't you come back to me?_  Jorgan silently asked, not daring to give voice to that hope.  _Give me a sign._

When only silence answered, Jorgan rolled back to his feet and gathered the rest of his clothes from the footlocker. He needed to make things right with Cormac. The man had stayed in Havoc out of loyalty to Jorgan and at Elara's behest. But, the Cathar hadn't realized the toll that the decision had taken on Balic. He'd taken the man's optimism for granted.

Searching the small shuttle took only a few minutes. Jorgan found Cormac in the rations pantry, staring at the shelves, mind clearly parsecs away with his wife and son. Jorgan cleared his throat, and the big man jumped, hands coming up to wipe at his cheeks. "Major," he answered without turning. "I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have said—"

"Don't," Jorgan interrupted.

Cormac nodded, then his shoulders rose and fell as he exhaled. When he faced Jorgan, red rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks stared out of the normally cheerful face. The remaining frustration drained out of Jorgan, and he leaned against the wall beside his friend.

"We've been through a lot together," Jorgan ventured. A choked laugh escaped through Cormac's defenses, easing the tension enough for Jorgan to continue. The Cathar stared at his feet, and Cormac waited in silence; neither man met the other's eyes.

"I don't know if Fynta is alive," Jorgan offered, meeting Cormac halfway to calling the woman his wife by using her name. He needed to say more, but the words refused to break free of his strict sensibilities. Hell, he'd never even shared them with Fynta. She'd just always known, and that had been enough.

Unable to get the words out, Jorgan changed tactics. "I had no right to use Elara against you." Cormac shifted, and Jorgan plowed on before the man could wave away the apology. "The not knowing wears on you. It carves out chunks of your sanity, and if you acknowledge it too much, you end up with a psych discharge hanging over your head."

Jorgan folded his arms and continued to glare at the floor. Maybe he'd already shown too much weakness. "I have to focus on my job; it gets me through the day."

Silence met Jorgan's confession. When he looked up, Balic's expression was the exact one that he'd been trying to avoid. The pity made Jorgan feel like a fool. Shoving away from the wall, he moved to leave when Cormac's hand caught his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know you love her, I just miss the boss."

"I know you do." Jorgan patted Cormac's hand before reaching for the door handle. "You have my permission to look into the Outlander, just don't let the brass catch you."

Cormac forced a grin reminiscent of the one Fynta used every time she tried to charm someone into accepting her bad behavior. Jorgan shook his head. He didn't have the heart to tell Cormac that he fully expected the investigation to prove him wrong. Let the man hold onto hope a little longer. Someone had to.

**Odessen  
** **Alliance Headquarters**

Cheers welcomed the assault team back to Odessen. They'd taken out one of Arcann's deadly weapons platforms and survived. Of course, the revelry hadn't lasted long as reports of counter-attacks poured in. Bey'wan scattered fighters for aid. The Bothan assured Fynta that everything was under control and politely  _suggested_  that she get some rest.

Akaavi had excused herself to mull over data from the Star Fortress with Zolah and Theron. However, the surly Zabrak had requested dismissal before leaving this time, which Fynta counted as progress. That left her and Iresso to drag Peirce's ornery ass to the medbay. Fynta knew the man would walk again, but after the amount of damage done to his leg, she didn't want to waste time getting him seen to.

The hefty commando objected to their treatment until a nurse sedated him. After ensuring that Pierce wouldn't cause problems for anyone else, Fynta excused Iresso for the evening, then headed for the cantina.

Fynta passed by the armory on her way to a stiff drink, and thought to check with Hylo on their supplies. The hallway grew more crowded the closer she came to the indoor firing range. Men and women of varying affiliations and species muttered to one another, pausing only when someone at the front called a number back to them. A chorus of cheers or groans followed the announcement.

Being momentarily sidetracked from her goal, Fynta tapped the tech blocking her path to ask what the commotion was about. "There's a Jedi on the firing range," a nearby woman answered, her accent and uniform marking her as an Imperial. "She's yet to miss the bloody target, no matter where they put it."

"A Jedi," Fynta repeated. "This I've got to see."

Fynta pushed through the cramped space, pulling command to get a better view of what was happening on the firing range. At last, she joined a line of whispering officers while the Hero of Tython hefted a rifle to her shoulder. Kaeto looked down the mounted sights on her weapon, then signaled to the man operating the targeting simulation. Fynta let out a low whistle. Kaeto's accuracy was unrivaled, especially at the speed those targets flashed down the line.

The last shot echoed through the air, and Kaeto turned with a smile. "Satisfied?" Her eyes fell on Fynta, and the commander offered an appreciative applause.

The officers surrounding Fynta grumbled amongst one another, passing cred sticks down the line until they ended in Kaeto's open palm. That pulled Fynta's inquisitive brow skyward. "Alright boys," one of the Republic lieutenants grunted. "Time to get back to work before Master Vaa cleans us out again."

Fynta held her tongue until the crowd dispersed, then smirked at Kaeto. "Taking advantage of your own men? I thought Jedi had more compassion than that."

Kaeto snorted as she turned her back on Fynta and hefted the rifle again. Too late, Fynta remembered how much Kaeto hated being called a Jedi. "The Order sent me on hiatus after my unsanctioned tenure with the Sixth Line." She left the rest unsaid, though Fynta understood the woman's bitterness. She'd taken on the Emperor at the council's command, and what followed had been a nightmare of blame and abuse at the hands of those who should have cared for her.

"And, I wasn't taking advantage of those men," Kaeto paused long enough to press her cheek against the stock to look down the sight. "I've worked with them before, they knew what they were getting into."

Now that Fynta could see it better, she realized that the weapon Kaeto held was too small for the battlefield, the barrel too short to be accurate. This was a game. Buttons traced the side of the mock-rifle that allowed for innumerable combinations of target patterns and speeds. She watched with envy while Kaeto finished with a rapidly blinking rotation before speaking again. "And the gambling?"

"It'll go to the alliance," Kaeto answered, powering down the weapon. "It's a game I've always played with the local soldiers. They place bets on how many I'll miss, then the credits are pooled and offered to the needy." The Togruta smiled wistfully at the hallway where her men had vanished. "I've never missed, yet they bet absurd amounts that I will."

Fynta nodded. "They're good men, all of them." She angled her head at the rifle case while Kaeto finished packing everything away. "When did you take this up? Wouldn't a lightsaber be more impressive?"

"I learned the beauty of a blaster when I was young. My parents fought in the resistance of a planet conquered years ago. I don't even know its name, but I remember my father cleaning his rifle." Kaeto sighed and waved her hand, calling the target platforms to her effortlessly. "After I was rescued by the Jedi, it became clear that my upbringing was not in alignment with their teachings."

"Not much is," Fynta grumbled.

Kaeto nodded, though it lacked her signature smirk. "They have their redeeming qualities like any other organization." She packed the rest of the equipment into the box and stood. "I was still a Padawan when one of the soldiers under my master's care invited me to join them at the firing range. We were on Coruscant, and bored while he dealt with meetings. They let me borrow one of their weapons, and I…." Kaeto trailed off.

"You what?" Fynta pressed, though she already knew where it would end.

"I'd never experienced anything so exhilarating," Kaeto finally admitted. "The combination of peace and violence wrapped into one. The effort of keeping my heart from racing so as not to shake and throw off my aim. Then, the satisfaction when my bolt connected with the target. There is no other feeling like it."

Fynta understood completely. It was the same reason that she fled to this sanctuary when she felt overwhelmed. Fynta relished in the silence that her ear protection supplied and focused on a single task. Nothing else mattered except her and the target.

Kaeto sighed, holding the case with both hands. "It's a safe outlet for my darker tendencies."

"Think it'll oust mine?" Fynta muttered.

Kaeto's head tipped to answer, but Fynta changed the subject. No doubt the empathic Togruta sensed her irritation. "Nevermind, just tired. I was planning on a drink, but I think I'll turn in for the night."

Fynta scurried for the exit, waving over her shoulder before Kaeto could press for more information. Unwelcome thoughts crowded her mind, and she didn't want to give the Jedi a peek at any of them. Fynta only half understood the swirl of emotion herself.

Hurrying back to her room, Fynta shut the door and took a moment to reflect on the day. The Star Fortress over Alderaan was gone, and the people free to live without Arcann's boots on their throats, or join the fight. At this point, Fynta didn't care which. She had her own problems to consider.

As if on cue, Valkorion chuckled in the back of Fynta's mind.  _You look tired_.

"Shove it, laandur hut'uun," Fynta snarled at her sofa. Pushing away from the door, she climbed the stairs to her room.

Valkorion appeared in Fynta's mirror, smirking while she undressed. Rage mounting at his arrogant invasion of privacy, and she turned to spew more curses at the undead Sith emperor. Her tirade sputtered out with the realization that he wasn't really behind her. It was another tactic to undermine Fynta's mental stability, and she refused to admit that his ploy was working.

"You stole my life," Fynta hissed, facing both of their reflections as she tugged the binding from her hair to rake tired fingers through it. "You and your damnable spawn."

Valkorion let out an exhausted breath and began pacing behind Fynta. " _I saved you from a distraction, that it all."_

Fynta paused, brows furrowed at the man in her mirror. "Want to explain that one?"

" _The memories would have kept you from completing your task, crippled your ability to function as leader of the Alliance."_  Valkorion paused to meet Fynta's disbelieving gaze. " _You doubt?"_

The insult on Fynta's tongue faltered when Valkorion's presence slammed into her consciousness. Images swam before her vision, sickening with their speed. Fynta clung to her dresser to avoid collapsing under the Emperor's onslaught as pain wormed through her body.

" _Agent Shan was right, of course."_  Valkorion's voice pierced the overwhelming sights and sounds with a sharpness that made Fynta cry out. " _A Mandalorian is not capable of the commitment required by a Cathar. See your husband, and the life you left behind."_

_Aric Jorgan stood over Fynta, finger in her face. An angry snarl twisted the spots around his mouth into a terrifying mask. A wave of anger swept through her, rage on the heels of injustice that this man would mark her as inferior. The vision shifted to the same Cathar shoving her backwards, snarling into the face of another human while keeping his body between them, reeking of jealousy._  Fynta gasped, felt her knees give way as the conflicting emotions of fear and anger collided with images that her subconscious barely had time to register.  _Fynta smiling as she left Jorgan, hanging onto the arm of Jonas Balkar. Jorgan's betrayal of her rank, and the brutal fight that followed. Their blood mingling as he pinned her against the ship's floor._

Just as quickly as they'd begun, the visions vanished. Fynta came back to herself, gasping on her hands and knees in the middle of her bedroom. Sweat dripped from the tip of her nose to splatter on the floor, and her head felt as if it had been locked in a strill's jaws.

" _He never understood the way your mind worked,"_  Valkorion clarified in a bored tone. " _A Cathar who committed himself to a woman who carelessly threw her life away. You knew what your death would mean for him, yet never once shied from its embrace."_

Fynta clenched her teeth, snarling as she clambered up on shaky legs. "Lies," she managed, but her voice rasped from screaming.

" _Is it?"_  Valkorion asked, fading back into obscurity. The pressure lifted from Fynta's mind, allowing her to breathe unhindered once more.

Fynta wiped the back of her hand across her face, only to realize that her cheeks were stained by tears, not sweat. Guilt consumed her, anguish over something she couldn't quite grasp. That frustrated her more. Fynta's mind's eye still swam in the misery of her former life, and she punched the mirror hard enough to crack both the glass and her knuckles.

Staggering back, Fynta sank onto the bed and ran both hands over her face. She willed her shaking fingers to still, unable to reconcile the memories Valkorion had shown her with the tales of wedded bliss that Theron spun. Fynta had always been happy to scratch an itch with whoever was convenient. She'd never once considered tying her life to a single partner. None of it made sense.

_You're a fierfeking disaster, Fynta._  The self scorn was nothing new, but the words carried greater weight this time. Pulling on her PTs, Fynta decided to skip the shower in favor of finding Theron. She knew he'd want to fix this, the man couldn't help himself, but Fynta refused to allow Havoc Squad to enter the alliance. Not until she figured out whether her Cathar husband would be more likely to put a bolt through her than Arcann.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a:**  
>  vod - brother  
> laandur hut'uun - pathetic coward
> 
> **A/N:** Each of Fynta's flashback were a real occurrence from Family is More Than Blood. The first was their meeting on Ord Mantell, which I didn't actually put into the story, but you all know how that went. The second from their meeting with Balkar on Nar Shaddaa, third was ironically from their first kiss, which can be found in Chapter 18: Balmorran Contract, and the final ones were from Ch 19  & 20\. If anyone is interested in picking those out. I did promise a highlights reel after all.


	15. Altered Vantages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zolah gets a pleasant surprise. Vector teaches Fynta the danger of arrogance. Theron disobeys orders. Balkar wants to know why the universe has it out for him, and Jorgan gets the shock of his life.

**Odessen  
** **Residential Quarters**

"Firebrand."

Zolah repeated the name, then chewed her lip, trying to remember why it sounded familiar. She had stalked the halls all morning while going over the psych evaluation for an anarchist that Theron thought had potential. The alliance needed someone with a reputation for sullying their hands; one who wasn't tied to its figurehead. If things got out of hand, this Firebrand could be used as an ultimatum to force a decision from other groups, or perhaps to simply annoy Arcann while a larger attack came under way.

"I know I've heard this name before," the Chiss muttered, struggling to dredge up the long dead memory. With a sigh, Zolah conceded defeat and turned towards her quarters. Perhaps Vector would know.

Ignoring the other techs and soldiers who lined the hallway that led to her quarters, Zolah palmed open the door and stepped into silence. She checked the wall chrono, raising a brow when it coincided with the time on her datapad. By now, both of her lovers should be up and about. Theron hadn't mentioned any early meetings that might call him away, and Vector wasn't due to speak with the new recruits until noon. She had expected the joiner to be cooking breakfast, at least.

With a sigh, Zolah collected her holo and dialed Theron's frequency. She heard a faint buzzing through the door on the left, and her brow climbed higher. Ending the call, Zolah followed the sound to Vector's room and dimmed the lights so as not to blind the man inside. The moment she stepped inside, her breath caught. "Oh."

Two bodies stirred beneath the blanket on Vector's bed, and Zolah felt a grin spread across her face. "Good morning, boys." She kept her tone light and teasing to avoid startling them any more than she already had.

Theron rolled out of the bed, pulling the blanket with him to reveal Vector's naked form. The joiner yawned, then greeted Zolah with fond smile. "Morning, beloved."

Zolah turned an amused smirk on Theron. Judging by the way he hugged the material around his hips, the man shared a similar state of undress. Before her Republic spy could stutter an explanation, Zolah let out a relieved laugh. "Well, I'd say it's about time, but Vector assures me that these things must happen at their own pace."

"What?" Theron straightened, holding the blanket like a shield.

Ignoring Theron's unease, Zolah approached the bed to offer her husband a kiss, then circled around to do the same for Theron. "As highly anticipated as this development is, we really must leave on time to make our meeting with Firebrand."

Theron's lips puckered on reflex to Zolah's kiss, but his expression remained adorably baffled. "Time to get dressed," she remarked with a pat to his rump. "Vector, I'm assuming you'll explain?" Her husband tipped his head, and Zolah excused herself.

Vector would handle the intricacies of their relationship better than Zolah could. No doubt Theron felt as though he'd betrayed her in some way by sleeping with Vector. Explaining their arrangement could be difficult, but if anyone could help Theron navigate these new waters, it would be her ever patient diplomat.

A thought struck Zolah so suddenly that she stopped in the middle of their sitting room. She couldn't say what sparked it, but now, the Chiss couldn't believe that she'd been so dense. "Oh my god," Zolah breathed, glancing back at the Firebrand insignia. "The name of the tank on Denova." She'd had a full crew during that battle, including a Rattataki with a proclivity for making political statements in big ways.

A feral grin curled Zolah's lips. "I've got you now, old friend."

**Odessen  
** **War Room**

"Har'chaak!" Fynta stormed through the compound. Her quarry had evaded her once more. Theron had always been a slippery son of a bantha, but she could usually root him out with a little effort. Fynta had no clue what she'd say when she did find the man, certainly nothing about crazed visions of her former life, but she needed to make him see reason.

As Fynta crossed the War Room, a voice called out from behind a stack of electronics. "Commander?" Vector peeked around the datapads that doubtlessly contained the profiles of everyone he planned to meet with in the next few hours.

While not technically his job title, the Joiner's diplomatic training uniquely qualified him to present their cause for potential allies. Often, Vector and Master Notiac spent hours weighing the pros and cons of a recruit. After passing their joined scrutiny, the Jedi would meet the person in question at a neutral location to ascertain their intentions. Of course, Fynta had never actually watched the process take place, but she'd heard it was excruciatingly boring.

Sighing, Fynta turned toward the man. If anyone could help her track Theron down, it would be his Imperial bunkmate. "I'm looking for a certain spy who has a tendency to get under my skin," she answered without the courtesy of a greeting.

"Ah," Vector smirked. He switched off the device in his hand to offer Fynta his complete attention. "We assume you mean Theron, though Zolah is also with him." Fynta gave the man credit for including both intelligence agents. Those two were equal pains in her ass. "They traveled to Zakuul to enlist the aid of an anarchist there."

Fynta's brow shot up when Vector's words sank in. "An anarchist? That isn't Theron's usual style."

Vector sighed and pushed to his feet. "Unfortunately, we believe that we know who this woman is. Zolah hopes to see an old friend."

"I'm guessing this isn't an old friend that you approve of?" The moment those words slipped through her lips, Fynta's mind reached the only viable option, and her mouth dropped open. "No way."

Fynta had heard about Firebrand-hell, Koth raved about the woman night and day-enough to know that she was a Rattataki. "Fierfek, are you suggesting that they found Kaliyo?" Vector's lips pressed into a thin line, and Fynta swore again. The alliance base was about to become a lot more interesting.

"Perhaps we may be of assistance, Commander?" Vector asked, hands clasped behind his back as he came around the table to stand in front of Fynta. "In the absence of irritating spies."

Glancing up, Fynta met Vector's gaze and planted her fists on her hips. The Killik Joiner was tall and lithe, not the standard, heavy armor wearing grunt that she was used to. On first glance, he appeared thin, but Fynta had been in their quarters enough times to see the man in various states of undress, and knew that to be a mere illusion.

Dropping her hands, Fynta sighed. "No, but thanks."

Fynta turned away and stomped towards-she paused, realizing that she had no clue where to go next. Falling back on tradition, Fynta made her way towards the indoor gym. "I need to punch something," she grumbled under her breath, angling down the cramped hallway.

Vector's polished shoes clicked against the floor as he jogged to catch up. "Perhaps a friendly sparring match?" Fynta missed a step, interrupting the flow of traffic as she turned to face him. The crowd parted around the two with minor grumbling and curious glances.

Lowering his voice, Vector stepped closer. "We see the turmoil in your aura. Allow us this one comfort."

Fynta hesitated. She should decline, politely, of course. Sparring against an inferior opponent offered such an array of complications that she avoided it when possible. Protecting her opponent required so much effort that it usually left her  _more_  frustrated. But, Vector was quickly becoming a friend, and she trusted the strange man. Not to mention, Fynta had never met a more earnest face.

Vector, like Kaeto, could sense Fynta's darker moods, yet the man seldom commented on them. He respected her privacy while offering calm guidance if she sought him out. Groaning inwardly, Fynta conceded. She'd just have to be careful. "Alright, let's work out some stress."

Fynta directed Vector towards the gym where a couple of Mandalorians were beating the osik out of one another. They'd likely just come off a boring shift and needed an outlet for their unspent energy. Across the room, a young Sith practiced with a target ball and lightsaber. Fynta would have happily inserted herself into either of those groups for a proper workout.

There was nothing for it. Vector wanted to help, and who was she to turn the man down? Fynta walked directly to the weapons rack and waved a hand for Vector to pick first. "What is your weapon of choice?"

With the confidence of a soldier, Vector swiped a fighting stick and tested its weight. "We are partial to the staff."

"It's a good weapon," Fynta nodded. She'd be able to control the movements better than with one of the more brutal options. Retrieving her own, Fynta felt better knowing that she'd still get decent exercise if she over extended her attacks.

Vector shrugged out of his over robe while Fynta stretched. "Do you have any experience in a real fight, or did you have professional training from childhood?"

Fynta knew that Vector had come from a wealthy family, though he never offered personal details. That led Fynta to believe that most of them must still be alive and well. People like her had no reason to hide their origins. You couldn't threaten the dead.

"We do," the Joiner answered with a cryptic smile. Fynta's curiosity piqued, but she let the matter drop. If he had formal training, then the potential for fun lurked in the distance.

"Ready?"

At Vector's nod, Fynta attacked. She telegraphed her moves, choosing simple combinations of over head swings and easy to block jabs. They continued for several minutes, Vector meeting her stroke for stroke. Fynta began to feel the rhythm of the fight and picked up the pace. Vector never missed a step, handling himself exceptionally well for a man who spent most of his time brokering peace agreements.

Fynta fought the desire to lose herself in the battle. Even so, adrenaline got the better of her. The moment that she planted her foot to whirl around with an overhead slash, Fynta knew her strike would be too hard. The crack of her staff striking Vector's open palm echoed through the training room. He yanked the stick from Fynta's grasp, and in the same motion, turned in a crouch to aim both weapons back at her. "Shall we spar now, or would you like to continue warming up?"

It took a solid minute before Fynta could speak. "That should have broken your collarbone." Yet, Vector had snatched her weapon from the air like it was nothing more than an annoying bug. Fynta narrowed her eyes. "What kind of training did you have, exactly?"

Vector rose to his full height, offering the staff back to Fynta. "We are Dawn Herald," he stated as if that should explain everything. She'd heard the title, and knew that it had something to do with his connection to the Killik hive on Alderaan, but nothing more.

"That obviously means something different to you than it does to me." Fynta grinned, then dropped into a crouch with her staff angled at Vector. "Alright then, ready to go again?"

Vector mirrored Fynta's stance, light glittering in his fathomless, black eyes. She had clearly underestimated the joiner's abilities. With the force with which she struck him, it should have left a lasting sting, yet Vector acted as though Fynta had simply handed him her weapon. After this was over, she planned to learn everything she could about what being a Dawn Herald meant.

Fynta rushed forward, ducking beneath Vector's attack and aiming her own at the back of his legs. A cacophony of wood on wood dominated the small gym as they traded blow for blow. For every strike that made it through Vector's defenses, he answered with his own. The joiner never spoke, though Fynta knew it wasn't from the strain of their fight anymore than her laughter whenever he landed another hit was meant to mock him. She honestly enjoyed every blow.

By the end, both were breathing heavily. Fynta was sure that she'd walked away with more bruises than Vector. While she braced trembling hands against her knees, Vector cleaned, then secured their weapons and returned with a bottle of water. Fynta accepted with a tired grunt and chugged half before taking another breath.

"Shab," Fynta puffed, rubbing at her arm where Vector's last attack had landed. "I had no idea that you were capable of such violence."

"As Dawn Herald, we were both mouth and protector of the hive," Vector answered, pushing sweat slicked hair back from his eyes. The man grimaced. "And now, we think a shower might be in order, lest we offend our new allies."

Fynta laughed, barely keeping the water she'd drank in her mouth. After successfully swallowing, she grinned again. Vector might be a hell of a warrior, but he was still an aristo. Dirt would never be his calling. How peculiar for a man who's closest family was a bunch of giant bugs. "Thank for the work out, Vector. I really needed that."

Vector studied Fynta, and she wondered if he was reading her aura again. "Yes," he finally agreed. "It has been far too long since we fought in earnest. We are rusty."

Fynta snorted. If that was rusty, then she might be better off taking lessons on how to beat Arcann from the Killik Joiner, instead of Kozen and Senya. "Go on and get a shower." Fynta made a shooing motion, then called after him when he turned to leave. "Let me know when Theron returns. I still need to talk to him." Vector nodded, tipping his head in respect, before exiting the room.

With Vector's departure came the return of Fynta's reason for seeking the spy out in the first place. The troubling images from Valkorion's illusions flitted through her mind, though they'd already begun to dim. Fynta desperately needed to remind Theron where she stood on Havoc's admittance into the alliance. She just hoped that he didn't do anything stupid in the meantime.

**Zakuul**  
**Old World  
** **Abandoned Tram Station**

"No way," Kaliyo spat. The Rattataki stalked from behind her cover with a feral grin. "No, damn way."

Zolah holstered her blaster and met the fabled anarchist halfway. The women embraced, leaving Theron to wonder how Zolah didn't get hung on all of Kaliyo's piercings. "You should have told me it was you, Agent. I would have come anyway. You didn't have to promise me weapons." Kaliyo offered a devilish smirk that made Zolah laugh.

"How I've missed you, old friend." Zolah patted Kaliyo's back, then turned to wave Theron closer. He'd met the Rattataki before, a couple of times, actually, and didn't remember them fondly. Zolah continued when he joined the small huddle, her voice carrying an easiness that Theron seldom heard. "I've got a proposition for you. Care to listen?"

Kaliyo grinned at Theron. "Agent Hot Pants come with the package?"

Zolah shook her head. "Girls trip only. Do you have a place that we can speak in private?"

"My favorite kind. Come on, Agent, you can talk while we walk." Kaliyo started for the speeder parked by the lift. "I've got something in the works that I could use your help with, and you can sell me your pitch."

Zolah threw a wink over her shoulder before jogging after Kaliyo. Theron's gut twisted at the thought of the two of them alone on Zakuul. "Be good," he called after Zolah as she climbed into the speeder. Both women burst into laughter as the aircar lifted off of the ground. Theron sighed. These women were going to kill him one day. He couldn't help but wonder if it'd be accidental, or simply made to look that way.

Theron waited until they were out of sight before heading back towards the lift that would carry him to the Old World. He fidgeted during the long trip up, wondering if he'd succeeded in keeping Fynta in the dark about his true purpose on Zakuul. Theron had claimed that he needed a break, some private time with his lover, and Vector had been kind enough to corroborate the lie.

The thought of Vector heated Theron's face. He hadn't intended to fall into bed with the Joiner, but after years of flirting, it had just sort of-happened. Theron purposefully kept his thoughts from wandering to the circumstances that led to Zolah walking in on them; they were far too private to be explored on a planet full of Force users. He pondered how it would affect the three of them in the future, then paused to marvel that he was even considering a future. The thought was pleasant, comforting even.

The doors opened, saving Theron from the direction of his musing. Instead, he was forced to contemplate the dismal life of those who came to the Old World to act out their depraved fantasies. Theron checked his chrono and frowned when he realized that battling their way through the hordes of Skytroopers that Kaliyo had stirred up had cost him valuable time. Lengthening his strides, he hurried towards the agreed upon cantina.

The sickly scent of alcohol and sweat filled Theron's nose as he pushed into the dimly lit interior. A quick skim of the patrons didn't reveal any threats, so he made his way towards the corner of the room. The man that Theron had come to meet waited at a table with three empty glasses in front of him. Theron slid into the booth with a nod. "Balkar."

"There you are. I was beginning to think you'd stood me up." Jonas Balkar stretched his arms across the back of the booth. The man's blue eyes glinted in the lights flashing through the window. "I would accuse you of trying to get me drunk, but you've already got your hands full."

"We're not going there," Theron warned, then changed the subject. His Imperial lovers were the last thing he wanted to discuss with Balkar. "I need you to get a message out. But, it can't trace back to me, understood?"

Theron slid a dataspike across the table. "This has to be delivered in person. It could ruin us otherwise."

Balkar frowned, an unusual expression for the man, and picked up the spike. "Do I get to know what's on it?"

Theron nodded, and the Republic spy slid the device into his datapad. Theron waited as the man read over the information. After a few minutes, Balkar narrowed his eyes. "Who is this going to, exactly?"

"Havoc Squad." Theron ignored the drink that appeared on the table in front of him, and the woman who brought it.

Jonas waited until the waitress left, then set the datapad down. "So, finally going after the Republic's best, huh?" He crossed his arms, and Theron tried not to look too smug. "What makes you think that Major Jorgan is going to turn his back on his government to join a reengage alliance he's been ordered to avoid?"

"Click the file," Theron offered, nodding to the device.

Balkar lifted the datapad again and pressed the button. His eyes grew wide, mouth dropping. "What the fuck is this?"

Theron smiled, crossing his arms to mirror Balkar's previous slouch. "So, can I count on you?"

Balkar didn't answer immediately. He licked his lips, then ran a hand over his mouth. "She's really alive?"

A little of Theron's pomp evaporated. He'd forgotten how closely Fynta and Jonas had worked in the years before her capture. In hindsight, Theron probably could have handled the reveal a little better. "Yeah, I'll get you in touch with her if you like."

Jonas nodded, still staring at the image that Theron had slipped into the message. When the man finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I really don't want to be the one to give it to him. Jorgan hates me."

"Can't imagine why." Theron's snip brought Balkar out of his trance, and he offered an insulting gesture in return. Theron leaned his elbows on the table and lowered his voice. "You don't want to be the one to tell him that his wife is still alive?"

"Wife?" The SIS agent paled. "Shit, Theron. When did that happen?"

This meeting had taken an unexpected turn, and Theron cringed with the knowledge that Fynta might have slept with Balkar at some point. "Around the time she lost her leg, I think."

The two men sat in silence while Jonas raked trembling fingers through his hair. Theron had never seen the cocky SIS agent so out of sorts, and he'd known Balkar for a long time. Finally, Jonas shut the device off and tucked it and the dataspike into his pocket. "I thought they were just sleeping together."

"You knew?" Theron asked, then groaned. Of course Balkar knew. For all his bluster, the man was a good agent, and he saw more of Havoc that anyone. Undoubtedly, Jonas has seen outdoing the Cathar as a challenge. Which meant he'd flirted shamelessly, probably right in front of Jorgan. Theron winced. "Nevermind. I think I understand."

Theron took a deep breath. Not only was he bringing Jorgan back to a wife who showed no interest in remembering him, but he was sending the invitation with a man the Cathar despised.  _Nice work, Shan_ , Theron thought. He pushed the frustration aside to focus on the task at hand. "She needs him, Balkar. Can you make this happen or not?"

Jonas sighed. "Yeah, but the fallout is on you."

Theron caught the agent's shoulder as he stood. "Fynta can't know about this." When Balkar gave him a wary scowl, Theron shook his head. "You're just going to have to trust me."

"Sure, whatever." Balkar pulled free with a humorless laugh. "Thanks for the drinks, Shan. Always a pleasure."

**Coruscant**  
**The Open Market  
** **Three Weeks Later**

"How do you know unless you try it?" Jorgan ask the stubborn Nautolan sitting across from him.

Shillet folded thin arms over her chest and glared back at Jorgan. "I'm not touching anything that moves  _after_ it's been cooked."

Truthfully, Jorgan had planned to treat the kid to some greasy street vendor food, but when they'd passed the shop of exotic dishes, he couldn't help but pick at her. It had been too long since Aric had been able to relax enough to enjoy a simple outing. The last time he'd taken Shillet out had been on her tenth birthday. That had been far too long ago.

Leaning forward, Jorgan raised a challenging brow. "Not even a small taste?"

The smooth, green skin above Shillet's eye pulled up an attempt to mirror Jorgan's expression. It was still a work in progress that mostly made her look surprised. "Why don't  _you_ taste it," she snapped, shoving the plate across the table so hard that Jorgan barely stopped it from toppling over the edge.

"I ate on the Thunderclap," Jorgan answered, settling the dish back in the middle of the table. Years of practice kept the smile from his face, but the look of outrage on Shillet's young features lightened his heart.

"You're just a big, fluffy, coward," Shillet stammered in rage. "I can't believe you brought me here." She was almost twelve, full of teenage fury and dramatic facial expressions. Damn, where had the time gone?

Pushing away from the table, Jorgan huffed a light laugh. "Alright, you win. Let's hit the market."

Black eyes shone with excitement as the Nautolan bolted from the cafe. Jorgan left extra credits as an apology for not eating the main dish, then headed after her. Havoc Squad was on a two week hiatus as reward for offing another Sith on Corellia. Cormac planned to spend the time with Elara and Tayl, while the younger members of Havoc did whatever it was kids did these days. Luckily, Jorgan didn't have to worry about bailing them out of prison like with the last crew, commander included.

"I want fried nerf," Shillet announced without tearing her eyes from a gaudy purse in the shop window. "And maybe some iced Bristlemelon for dessert."

Jorgan glanced at his demanding ward before tugging her away from the display. A familiar building loomed to his left, and Jorgan couldn't keep his gaze from drifting towards it. He wondered if Kal still peddled beskar from there, or if he'd moved on when Arcann blockaded Coruscant. It was one more connection to Fynta that Jorgan had never confirmed.

Forcing his gaze from the old building, Jorgan refocused on Shillet. "I'll make you a deal." She groaned in the face of another lecture, her footsteps falling heavier in a display of annoyance. Jorgan remembered another fiery female who used to do that. Strange how the two could be so much alike having never met. They weren't even the same species.

"Fine, no more fights." Shillet crossed her arms and glared at the crowd around them. "I don't see what the big deal is. It's not like I hurt anyone."

"What about the boy you bit," Jorgan countered. Truthfully, he'd become so used to the disciplinary messages that they rarely fazed him anymore. It was a place he never thought to find himself.

Shillet snorted. "He deserved it. And besides, that was last year. I'm more mature now."

"Then we have a deal?" Jorgan pressed, angling Shillet towards the food court.

"Yeah," the young Nautolan dropped her arms in defeat. "We do."

Jorgan purchased their food in silence, taking Kanner's advice about letting Shillet do all of the talking. She rattled on about classes, which she hated, Tayl's latest achievement, and various subjects of importance to a twelve year old in a war torn galaxy. Jorgan was pleased that few of her worries involved feelings of insecurity or politics, though the topic of boys came up more than he liked. Against all odds, Shillet behaved like every other girl her age despite the rough start and eccentric upbringing.

"Evening, Major." Jorgan tensed at the familiar voice. He turned to find none other that SIS Agent Jonas Balkar striding across the street. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Balkar," Jorgan responded by way of greeting, though the Cathar made it clear that he was in no mood for SIS games. "What can I do for you?"

Shillet leaned around Jorgan and flashed a sharp grin. "Hey Jonas. Aric's going to buy me a new purse."

"No, I'm not," Jorgan assured the girl, who turned her smirk on him before skipping off to oggle a new display.

Balkar chuckled. "Bet you are." Jorgan forgot, at times, that Balkar and Aleksie worked together. The SIS agent probably spent more time with Shillet than Jorgan did, which sat wrong in his gut. It brought a snarl to the Cathar's throat that he still hadn't managed to rid himself of the irksome human.

Balkar nodded for Jorgan to slow his steps. "You're just the man I was hoping to see." Jorgan's ears twitched, and he cast the agent a sidelong glance. "I've been in contact with a mutual friend of ours, and he had some interesting things to say. Namely, that someone high up has their eye on Havoc Squad."

"In the Senate?" Jorgan asked, keeping an eye on Shillet while trying to draw as little attention to them as possible. Conversations like these made him paranoid, and he had to resist the urge to glance around for more spies.

"Higher," Balkar remarked, fingering a dataspike. "And, a bit further out."

Jorgan's mind rushed through the possibilities, but he knew there could only be one. The Outlander set her sights on Havoc Squad. Rumor had it that she'd been amassing an army of the best this galaxy could offer, Imperial and Republic alike.

"Sorry, Balkar." Jorgan started to turn away. "Havoc Squad isn't for hire. We fight for the Republic."

The agent grabbed Jorgan's forearm to stop him. "Before you say no, just take a look at this. I think you'll find the intel  _compelling_." The man slapped Aric on the shoulder and grabbed his hand in a rough shake. He spoke louder this time. "It was nice catching up, Major. Don't be a stranger."

Balkar sauntered off, being sure to pass Shillet to flip one of the tendrils on the back of her head playfully, then melted into the crowd. Jorgan tucked his hand into his pocket to deposit the dataspike that Balkar has slipped him, and moved to join her at the window. Being so distracted by the small device, Jorgan realized too late that he'd handed Shillet the credits she requested. Ten minutes later, the Nautolan marched out with a new purse and triumphant expression.

It was nearly 2300 by the time Jorgan convinced Shillet that bed was in her future regardless of her feelings on the matter. He'd rented out a two room flat for weekends when Havoc was in town so that Shillet didn't have to stay at Elara's all the time. When she turned sixteen, Aric planned to put her name on the lease to ensure she always had a safe haven.

Finally alone, Jorgan plugged the dataspike into his computer terminal. The message was simple, with two files attached.

_New commander forming a joint alliance against Emperor Arcann._  
_Advise all interested parties to rendezvous at coordinates D-13, 128.37.96_  
_Join with the Outlander to save our galaxy.  
_ _(intel attached on coordinates for target of interest)_

Jorgan scrolled around to see if there was any more information, then settled on the text file first. He assumed the image was the Outlander's banner, something striking to entice people into joining her cause. The file contained coordinates and schematics for a guard station on Zakuul that would allow Havoc to tap into the main system. It would give Arcann's enemies a leg up on their movements.

Glancing at the chrono, Jorgan realized that it was too late to contact the squad, and closed out the file for later study. He clicked the image to find a wanted holo, not a banner.

**WANTED FOR TREASON, MURDER, AND THE DESTRUCTION OF GOVERNMENT PROPERTY.**  
**THE OUTLANDER, A HUMAN FEMALE KNOWN AS FYNTA WOLFE-**

Jorgan's mind slammed to a halt, refusing to read past the name. Fynta Wolfe.  _Fynta._ As much as he wanted to look away, his vision tunneled on the profile image attached to the poster. The blonde stared back with those impossibly blue eyes, and Aric's breath struggled in his throat as his gaze traced the familiar target shaped tattoo in the same way his fingers had done countless times.  _Fynta_.

As a second breath inflated his lungs, Jorgan forced himself to look at the whole image of his wife. There were subtle changes in the woman that he'd given up for dead five years ago. Fine lines spidered by the corner of her eyes, exhaustion or tension, but there was something different behind her stare. A wildness that he hadn't seen since they first met on Ord Mantell.

Aric's fingers brushed over the image as waves of emotion rolled over him. He had searched for her, reached out desperately, and met only silence. He'd fought against hope that she'd ever return, and finally come to accept that she wouldn't. Now, the image mocked him. What could he ever say to her to explain why he'd given up? What if she thought he was too weak to return to because he hadn't kept pushing? What if-

Agony clawed at Jorgan's chest as the room dimmed along the edges. He couldn't draw a breath. Spots danced before his vision as he fought to push the years of pent up misery and loss behind the barrier that had held it for so long. An old army trick used to keep a cool head in battle popped into his mind. Focus on three truths to ground himself in the present.

Fynta was the Outlander. She was alive. He'd left her behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to Tish for helping me navigate how to approach Vector and Theron's growing relationship, and to Dimi for making the angst better (or worse, depending on your viewpoint).


	16. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaliyo officially joins the Alliance, to virtually everyone's chagrin except Solish's. Jorgan offers Havoc Squad an ultimatum, then has a less than satisfactory conversation with Theron. Then, Theron ensured his blaster has a full charge before coming clean to Fynta.

**Odessen**  
**Command Base  
** **Five Days Later**

Koth rolled his eyes at the passing Rattataki. She and Scorpio were reminiscing about the good old days while Zolah pretended not to notice. Kaliyo cast a furtive look towards the Chiss, then said something cryptic to the metal kill machine. Koth knew they were speaking Basic, but the words made no sense.

"So," Kaliyo stopped next to Koth and propped an elbow on his shoulder. "Where do I bunk on this heap?"

Koth shrugged away from the woman with a sneer and punched in the frequency for the only person who might prove a more interesting target than him. Koth didn't like Kaliyo, and he didn't trust her. While both Theron and Zolah claimed that the woman would come in handy, neither personally vouched for her either. Koth didn't see how anyone who so readily sacrificed the lives of thousands could offer what the alliance needed.

Doing his damnedest to ignore Kaliyo's smirk, Koth focused on the numbers for Fynta's holo.

"Wolfe."

Koth blinked at the miniature commander. "Wow, that was fast." He'd barely tapped the final digit before she appeared.

Fynta rubbed the bridge of her nose, eyes shut. "Just happened to have it in my hand. What can I do for you?"

By her statement, Koth took it to mean that Fynta had been researching her old life again. He wasn't supposed to know about the amnesia, and Theron nor Lana-well, maybe Lana-realized that he'd overheard their conversation. Ever since that night, Koth had kept a closer eye on the commander, noting her vacant expression, or the furrow of brows when she thought no one was looking. While Koth never expected her to admit to it, he knew that she couldn't deny her curiosity. Fynta wasn't used to surrendering control.

Koth assumed that the emperor had his reasons for taking Fynta's memories, though even he had to admit that it made his skin crawl. The woman in question cleared her throat, and Koth shook the uncomfortable thoughts away. "Theron brought home another stray. You're going to want to take this one personally."

Fynta shut her eyes, and Koth swore that she was counting. When Fynta opened them again, her expression firmed. "On my way." The call ended, and Koth leaned against the table to watch as more trouble entered the room.

"I heard of your audacious plan," Solish purred. She'd removed her standard cowl, displaying short, golden hair that matched her eyes. The small Cathar winked at Koth as she passed, and his lip curled involuntarily. Solish was another undesirable personality that had settled on Odessen. Everyone assured Koth that it took all types to run an army. He disagreed.

By the time Fynta joined them, Senya had already confiscated three datapads, a blaster, and threatened to end the Rattataki if she so much as glanced at her lightsaber again. Solish and Kaliyo whispered to one another, pointing at Theron every so often, and the spy did everything in his power to look unruffled by their attention. Meanwhile, Zolah ignored everyone, and Lana patrolled the room. Koth's only relief was the knowledge that Hirani had turned in for the day. She and Kaliyo had started comparing lists on the way back. They knew a lot more of the same people than Koth felt comfortable with.

Fynta leaned against the table next to Koth and crossed her arms. She remained silent while taking in the scene with an arched eyebrow. When the commander finally spoke, she did so without removing her gaze from Kaliyo. "What's your take?"

"I'm unimpressed," Koth answered, not bothering to lower his voice. "She shut down the entire Zakuulan Prime power grid. No environmental controls, no water purification, no electricity—" He grabbed a chair and flipped it around to perch with his knees to either side of the backrest. "You want my advice, shoot her now, and save yourself the headache later."

"You forgot the droids," Kaliyo called, revealing that she hadn't missed Fynta's entrance. The Rattataki pushed away from Solish with a backward glance before approaching Fynta. "It's time the people of Zakuul learned what the rest of the galaxy has to deal with. Those droids do everything for them." The woman turned pale eyes on Koth. "Well, now they get to rough it with the rest of us for a few weeks."

"Any casualties?" Fynta asked without emotion.

"Not yet." Koth folded his arms over the back of the chair and glared at Kaliyo. "But, without emergency assistance, it's only a matter of time."

Zolah interjected from the planning table without extracting her attention from the datapad in her hands. "At least she didn't blow the place up. I talked her out of that one."

Koth pointed at the Chiss, "That shouldn't have been an option to begin with!"

Zolah blinked at Koth, then around the room as if she couldn't believe how dense her companions were. Finally, she set aside her datapad with a sigh. "It proves that she can see reason."

" _She_ ," Kaliyo snorted as she circled the room. "Is standing right here."

Fynta pressed calloused fingers against her eyes. "Someone show our new terrorist to her room while we sort through the rest."

"I'll find my own, thanks," Kaliyo remarked, then nodded for Solish to follow. She stopped by Fynta, her smile widening. "Hey, I remember you from when Agent bore that vendetta. Still alive, huh?" The Rattataki slid her eyes over Fynta in a less than respectful way. "If you ever need a good time, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

"I'll keep that in mind, provided you don't loot or destroy my base." Fynta kept her eyes straight, refusing to look their newest member in the eye.

Kaliyo responded with a light huff of laughter before slinging a pack over her shoulder and disappearing deeper into the complex. Koth resisted the urge to follow the woman to ensure that she didn't get into any more trouble. Or better yet, that she didn't find Hirani.

Fynta's gaze settled on Theron, and he held his hands up in defeat. "Don't give me that look, this one's on her."

Zolah glared at her lover, then rolled red eyes. "Look at it this way. Kaliyo livens things up." Fynta gave the Chiss a droll stare, and Zolah chuckled. "She's a good fighter, and she'll mostly do what you ask so long as she gets to destroy something."

"All you people do is complain about what a pain in the shebs I am," Fynta stated, waving her hand towards where Kaliyo had departed. "Yet, no one is concerned that the new anarchist just headed out with our local psychopath?"

Zolah shrugged and picked up the datapad again. "I've placed Solish close to the outer wall. Where she and Revel can do the least amount of damage." Koth wasn't sure that was possible, but Zolah ignored Fynta's grunt of indignation, so he kept his mouth shut for once. "Now, I'm off to find my husband to warn him that Kaliyo is back. This should be fun."

Zolah vanished in the same direction as the topic of their conversation, and Koth raised his hands. "Wait, Vector doesn't even like her, and we're still keeping her?"

"Welcome to my world," Theron muttered as he walked past, probably to join the two Imperial spies. The man kept his head down, though Koth didn't miss the tick in his jaw.

Fynta pulled a chair next to Koth and flopped down in the same position. She rested her chin on the back of it and smirked. "You know, I'll look the other way if you wing her."

"Which one?" Koth asked, then felt his lips pull into a grin when Fynta laughed.

**Coruscant**  
**Residential Sector**  
**Apartment 7865  
** **0700**

_I knew it,_ Balic thought.  _I bloody knew it._  A small part of his mind warned that this was the last situation where an  _I told you so_ , would be appreciated. He couldn't imagine what Jorgan must be going through, but judging by the amount of pacing, it was a lot of self-flagellation. Cormac purposefully bit his tongue, though he knew that he'd failed at keeping the smug expression from his face when Kanner's elbow connected with his ribs.

"So, the colonel is alive?" Kanner didn't look away from the holo of Fynta. Balic could barely tear his own gaze from it. She looked annoyed, tired even, in that image, but damn if it wasn't good to see her face again. No one looked at Jorgan for longer than required, though, and eye contact was out of the question. "Are we going?"

"Hell yes, we're going," Cormac answered before Jorgan could say something unreasonable. He pointed at the image. "That's the boss, and she's finally calling." Cormac didn't know what had taken Fynta so long, but it was about time that she'd remembered her aliit.

Aric paused, hands on hips, and stared at his boots. "Joining the alliance means turning our back on the Republic." The Cathar's lip curled. He'd become disenchanted with them years ago, but the man was nothing if not a loyal soldier. "It means being declared AWOL and hunted by the government we swore to protect."

Silence followed the major's declaration. Jorgan finally looked up, locking eyes with Cormac. "It means leaving Elara, Tayl, and Shillet behind. They won't come out of this unharmed."

Balic's jaw worked. He knew better than most what was at stake. Elara's boss was head of the entire Republic army. When Cormac vanished, hell would rain down on her. Both of the kids went to a school frequented by other military families. No doubt the rumors spread there would be vicious.

Even in the face of such staggering consequences, Elara had been adamant. "It's the right thing to do, boss," Cormac answered on his wife's behalf. She missed her friend, and told Balic to make sure that Fynta didn't get herself killed before she had the chance to find them again. It tore him apart to leave his family behind, but his gut said that Fynta needed Havoc now more than ever.

"Just make sure you talk to Shillet about what's coming for her," Cormac added as an afterthought. He knew Elara would shield Tayl as much as possible, but Shillet would be left defenseless unless Jorgan prepared the girl beforehand.

Jorgan pressed his lips together, offering only a stiff nod in response. His attention shifted to the others present. "I won't ask the rest of you to come along," he began. "You're all still young, with a bright career ahead of you. The wisest thing would be to stay and denounce me as your commander."

"Begging your pardon, sir," Kanner interjected. "But, this is the chance of a lifetime. We've been raised on the colonel's legend." She looked to her comrades. "I don't know about anyone else, but I'm not passing this opportunity up. I'm in." One by one, the rest of the squad fell in as well. Balic felt a swell of pride that Fynta could still inspire such loyalty, even from people who'd never met her.

Xaban leaned an elbow on Torg's shoulder. "I'd like to test my mettle against a real Mandalorian. Count me in."

"I'll pack extra bandages," Abbeth added, and Xaban stuck her tongue out at the Kel'dor.

While the rest input their reasons for going, Cormac noted the haunted look in Jorgan's eyes. All feelings of superiority fled when he realized how terrifying this reunion must be for the Cathar. He'd given up on his wife. Now, he'd have to look her in the eye and explain that. Cormac winced on his friend's behalf.

Cormac averted his eyes when Jorgan came back to himself and called the group to order. "Alright, we ship out in twenty-seven hours. Make whatever preparations you need to, but be discreet." The Cathar took a deep breath, then looked at Cormac. "We're going to get our commander back."

**Republic Military Vessel #2287  
** **Two Hours Until Departure**

Aric sat at the navigational controls, staring at coordinates that he couldn't believe were real. Once he pressed the accept button, his military career was over.  _But, she's your wife_ , a voice growled in the back of his mind.  _You owe her a lot more than your career_. He was being a coward, hoping that someone would tell him that he'd made the right choice all those years ago to stay in the military, instead of tearing the galaxy apart to find out what had happened to Fynta.

Running a hand over his face, Aric hit the button and stood to finish prepping their ship without looking back. Havoc would need to ditch as soon as they landed since the Republic could track their vessel. Elara claimed that she had a way to mask the signal being transmitted by the ones implanted under their skin. Jorgan had spent the last twenty-five hours ensuring that everything Havoc needed to bug out was packed and readily available. All that was left now was to contact Theron and set up the rendezvous time. He should feel more excited about this, about seeing Fynta again. But, the dread swirling through Aric's gut made him curse.

Deciding that he couldn't put it off longer, Jorgan dialed the frequency connected to the file on Balkar's dataspike and waited. The holo rang for nearly two minutes before Shan came into muted clarity. Jorgan could tell that the man was somewhere dark, and that he was doing his best to remain quiet. "I wondered if you'd ever call."

Theron looked like hell. Whatever the alliance was, it hadn't been good for the former agent's health. "I had to make preparations, we're on Coruscant." Jorgan let the insinuation hang between them.

Shan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "So, you're coming?"

The note of hope in Theron's voice gave Jorgan pause. "Is it really her?" Jorgan couldn't bring himself to use Fynta's name over the holo. "This isn't some sick joke?"

Theron shook his head. "Believe me, I've been dealing with her for five months now. If that's not the real Fynta, it's a damn good imposter." Theron glanced over his shoulder. "If you're coming, there are some things I need to prepare you for before you see her."

Jorgan's gut tightened, and he swallowed the bile building in his throat. Visions of his wife being tortured or further maimed danced through his mind. "How bad?"

"Not great," Theron answered. The stricken look on Jorgan's face made the SIS agent backpedal. "Nothing like that. Physically, she's fine, but there's a lot going on mentally that complicates things."

Heart pounding, Aric forced himself to ask for clarification, then forced down the dread of Theron's less than clear explanation. "Valkorion messed with her mind. I can't go into detail over the holo, but she won't act like the same woman who stepped off of the ship all those years ago."

Theron jumped, then swore. "Damn, I don't have long. No one can know that we spoke, understand?"

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

Annoyance rolled through Jorgan. "Shan, I'm not in the mood for your shit." He needed answers, and more importantly, to know why Theron was so jumpy.

"Believe me when I say that I know." The man's face softened. "There is going to be hell to pay for me telling you as much as I have. Just," he sighed. "I couldn't let you walk into this meeting blind. Whatever happens, whatever Fynta says, she needs you."

Before Jorgan could ask for clarification, Theron straightened and placed a hand on something out of view. "I've got to go. I'll send you a time and place. Theron out."

Jorgan blinked at the empty holo in his hand. His thoughts scattered in a thousand direction as he contemplated all the possibilities for Theron's odd behavior. What could be so bad that Fynta would hide it from him? Better yet, why had it taken her almost six months to contact him?

"Everything okay, sir?" Kanner asked, poking her head into the cockpit. "I heard voices."

Jorgan's datapad chirped at the same time he opened his mouth to respond. Shan had sent the specifics they needed for the rendezvous. Heaving a sigh, Jorgan shook his head. "Everything's fine. It's time to ship out."

**Odessen**   
**Mount Ne'johaa**   
**(Unofficially named)**

The wind was cold enough to burn Fynta's cheeks, signaling that the short summer in the mountains of Odessen was drawing to an end. According to Lana, it would test the soul of the Alliance, and she should be prepared for more disagreements as the warm weather evaporated.

Every day, Fynta spent hours settling disputes between Imperial, Republic, and Independents. They'd all signed up to fight, and if she couldn't provide something to aim their aggression at, then they would settle for one another. Fynta felt more like a glorified babysitter than the commander of an army set to destroy the second most powerful man in the galaxy.

_Second?_  Valkorion whispered in the back of Fynta's mind.

_You're not dead yet. I'll get to you eventually,_  Fynta promised the old shabuir, then scolded herself for acknowledging him. So far, the Immortal Emperor was locked away in her mind and could do little damage to anyone so long as she didn't let him use her. Arcann was a physical threat, but that didn't mean Valkorion was to be treated as anything less than hostile.

A grunt drifted to Fynta on the wind, and she fought back a smile. Nearly a minute later, she heard the telltale sounds of someone struggling up the steep incline to reach her perch. It couldn't be Lana, the Sith woman was stealthier, and Fynta was sure that was a distinctly male curse.

"Couldn't have chosen an easier mountain to climb?" Theron grumbled as he crested the ridge. The man got to his feet and dusted off his pants before joining Fynta on her rock.

They sat in silence while Theron fidgeted. Fynta sighed, knowing for a fact that the former agent could remain motionless for hours during meditation. He was being purposefully vexing because he wanted her attention. "What are you doing here, Theron?" Mount Ne'johaa was the only peaceful spot Fynta had left. A place of her own to sit for a couple of hours in the morning and watch the sunrise, to shut out the world for a few, precious minutes.

"Your holo's off," Theron groused, snorting when he noticed a scuff on his boot.

Fynta sighed. "You know I don't turn it on until the sun is above that ridge." She nodded towards the highest peak in the distance. In another five minutes, she would have submitted to the onslaught of demands. The blasted thing would buzz until she finally turned it off again at midnight.

"I get that you want to get away sometimes, I really do." Theron pickup up a rock and tossed it over the edge. "But, maybe you should leave your holo on from now on so that I don't have to climb up here. You know I don't like heights."

Fynta raised an eyebrow at Theron; she knew for a fact that he'd spent his earlier days hanging from all manner of billboards and skyscrapers. "I'll take that under advisement. Something on your mind?"

"Yeah. It's cold up here." Theron pulled his jacket tighter and stared out over the mountainous expanses. "I need your help with something," he muttered after a few more minutes of silence.

"What can I do for you?" Maybe Theron had a mission for her, one that actually required Fynta's presence instead of delegating it to one of the many squads now under her command. Delegating had never been one of her strong points.

"I passed a portion of that data Zolah secured from the Overwatch through an SIS contact of mine," Theron paused to make sure he had Fynta's full attention. She didn't bother asking who the contact was. Theron liked his secrets; it was one of the reasons they always seemed to be at odds no matter how far back their friendship went. "Anyway, it made a convincing invitation to some prospective allies in the Republic Special Forces."

Fynta's blood ran cold. Her spine stiffened, and she answered through grit teeth. "Tell me you didn't go against my expressed orders. Again." Theron remained silent, and Fynta swore.

Theron tensed visibly, but held his ground. "Havoc Squad is the best the Republic has to offer. We need them, Fynta." He paused. "And, at the risk of being tossed off the mountainside, you owe it to Jorgan to at least let the man know that you're alive."

Fynta shoved to her feet, her angry stomps crunching the already frozen grass that gathered on the precipice. "That's not for you to decide."

Theron shook his head, fingers drifting closer to the blaster on his hip. Fynta paused to glare at the weapon, daring him to draw on her. Theron sighed and placed his hand on his knee instead. "It is when you refuse to acknowledge that the situation exists. It's in the job description."

Fynta's glowered intensified as a storm of insults swirled through her mind. Theron had no idea of the hours she spent trying to sift truth from lie in the vague glimpses that Valkorion afforded her. "I'm assuming that you waited to tell me until Havoc was already en route?" Theron's silence was answer enough. There was no turning back. He'd manipulated her and set events into motion that couldn't be recanted.

"When is the rendezvous?" Fynta felt cold, resigned the way she did every time death beckoned to her from the Void. She could tell by Theron's stiff spine that he hadn't missed the change in her tone.

"That's the thing." Theron stood, putting space between them. "We need to leave now to make it. We're heading back into the Endless Swamp."

Fynta gave a curt nod. Her stomach churned so violently that her throat burned. She pushed past the SIS agent without a word, then paused at the opening of the game trail that she'd neglected to tell anyone about. Fynta refused to give Theron the satisfaction of meeting his eyes, and glared at the tree directly in front of her. "You better hope that you don't live to regret your hubris, Shan."

Fynta slipped into the forest, and Valkorion chuckled in the back of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> Ne'johaa - shut up


	17. Disavowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fynta prepares to face an uncertain future. Jorgan deals with the complicated emotions of seeing his wife again, and the repercussions are felt by all.

**The Gravestone  
** **En route to Zakuul**

"Would you stop already?" Theron grumbled, watching Fynta pace from his position at the table. They were crammed into the Gravestone's errand shuttle with the rest of her squad, and the woman had yet to remain still for more than a few minutes. The constant thump of boots grated on Theron's nerves.

Fynta paused, regarding Theron with familiar suspicion. While she'd probably never trust his judgment again, Theron had thought it worthwhile to save what little remained of his old friend's soul. They'd been through too much together for him to watch Fynta throw a good thing away. Theron may not be chums with the Cathar, but Aric Jorgan had been a good influence on the unmanagable Mandalorian.

Two full minutes past before Fynta started pacing again.

"How do I do this, Theron," Fynta asked finally. When he didn't answer, she leaned on the table in front of him. "How do I go into this pretending that I know these people? You said I'm married to one of them; he's bound to realize..." the commander broke off with a huff as she pushed away and began stalking that same path as before. "If he knew me at all, then he'll see through this sham the moment I open my mouth. Then, what will you do, oh clever one?"

If Theron didn't know any better, he'd say there was a note of hope in Fynta's voice. "Let's take it one step at a time. We'll just see what happens, okay?" Theron flipped through the many angry, and yet to be opened, letters from Major Jorgan. He kept his voice level, but his heart pounded fast enough to dance to.

Fynta flopped into the chair across from Theron. "Does he know?" An odd mixture of resignation and anger colored her voice.

Theron glanced up, meeting Fynta's eyes for the first time. "He knows that something has changed, but we didn't discuss what." Fynta's eyebrows pulled together, and Theron decided to take advantage of this moment of lucidity. "The only thing Jorgan demanded to know was if you were alright. Unfortunately, I don't think my answer soothed his nerves."

" _His_  nerves," Fynta snorted.

Felix came around the corner as Fynta opened her mouth to give Theron another scolding. The commander snapped it shut, but didn't take her eyes from Theron. If Iresso noticed the tense atmosphere, he didn't comment on it. "Hey, Koth wanted me to let you know that we've arrived, and to tell Theron to stop slicing into the comm systems."

Fynta's eyebrow raised at the spy, and Theron shrugged. "Habit."

A gravely chuckle crawled over Theron's skin a second before Pierce joined their cramped room. "That pilot's got an impressive vocabulary," the large Imperial said, hooking his thumb towards the bridge. "We're all ready, Commander, just waiting on your orders."

Fynta grabbed her helmet, then hauled Theron to his feet by the collar of his jacket. He sometimes forgot how strong the blasted woman could be when she was pissed. Giving Theron a shove towards the exit, Fynta slipped her helmet on. "Pierce, when this is over, remind me to put a bolt in Shan's ass."

The large man smirked, towering over Theron with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "No problem, boss."

**Zakuul  
** **The Endless Swamp**

Aric Jorgan had been lying in the mud for two hours. The other members of Havoc were spread around the clearing at different vantage points, waiting for their targets to arrive. Fynta's image from the intel that Theron had sent had been burned into Aric's mind. He saw her every time his eyes drifted shut.

The last week of travel to reach this far-flung planet had been a nightmare. Jorgan hadn't been able to sleep or eat. Neither had Cormac, for a change. The rest of the squad tiptoed around Aric. He hadn't anticipated missing the rowdy bunch of kids from before, but the silence gave him space to think, and that was the last thing Jorgan wanted.

"Hey, boss. You okay?" Cormac's voice sounded shaky. A quick glance showed that they were on a private line. Jorgan had shared Shan's warning about Fynta, and neither had been able to stop themselves from speculating over its meaning. They hadn't reached any conclusions, other than no one else could know.  _Whatever happens, whatever Fynta says, she needs you._ Aric knew how biting Fynta's tongue could be, and mentally prepared himself for the worst.

"Fine," Jorgan answered, his tone a little too curt. He wouldn't let on to anyone else just how nervous he was about this rendezvous. Whatever Fynta had to say, he was determined to meet it with dignity. Even if that meant facing her wrath for abandoning his wife.

"That's good," Cormac breathed. "Because, I'm about to soil myself. All this anticipation isn't sitting right with my stomach." If Jorgan hadn't been so out of sorts himself, he might have found that funny.

Kanner cut across the chatter in her standard, businesslike tone. "Possible contact." She paused. "Two targets; one male, one female. She's armored to the teeth, the male is-" Kanner sighed. "How does Agent Shan survive his lifestyle, exactly?"

"I don't have eyes on them yet, but that sounds like the boss," Cormac hesitated, then cleared his throat. "I mean, the missus boss."

"Bearing, thirty degrees west of your position, Major," Kanner reported, ignoring Cormac.

It didn't take long for the big man to reactivate Jorgan's private line. "She looks okay from here."

Jorgan tracked in the direction indicated with his scope. He'd assumed that jubilant relief would overwhelm him when Fynta came into view. Instead, queasiness settled in his gut. She wore a helmet unlike any Jorgan had seen. It swiveled side to side, looking for traps; an unfamiliar rifle rested in the crook of her arms. The armor was new too, solid black with the barest hints of white. Theron followed behind in armor lined civvies, no helmet. Had Jorgan not been so captivated by the woman who was supposed to be his wife, he would have fired a warning shot over the agent's head.

Jorgan watched in silence. The Outlander  _moved_  like Fynta, all the way down to the slight overcompensation of her right leg. Still, he couldn't be sure. It wasn't until he zoomed in on her sidearm and saw the wood-lined Verpine grip sticking out of the holster, the same that he'd given Fynta for her birthday so many years ago, that the world finally turned on its head.

Forcing the air from his lungs, Jorgan activated the encrypted frequency that Theron had attached to the message. It took a couple of swallows before his voice was steady enough to make contact. "That really you, sir?" Only his own carefully regulated breathing echoed in return.

The woman stopped, her helmet scanned the clearing and momentarily looked down Aric's scope. "It's good to finally hear your voice, Jorgan." Theron's warning nagged at the back of the Cathar's mind, and Jorgan held his breath until her gaze passed.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Jorgan switched back to the squad line. "Stand down, Havoc." The order was more of a cough than a command, but it was all he could manage.

Jorgan pushed off the ground, removed his helmet, and willed stiff muscles to cooperate. He vaguely recognized the rest of Havoc squad emerging from their hiding spots in his peripheral vision. Until the Outlander pulled off her helmet. Then, familiar blue eyes locked on his, and Aric's body went numb. The entire world narrowed to only Fynta. Jorgan's mind rushed in a hundred different directions.  _Five years. She's alive. Where has she been? Why didn't she contact me? Cormac was right. She doesn't look a day older._

When Jorgan reached his wife, he dropped his rifle to pull her against him. Their armor clacked like thunder in the silence. Jorgan slid his hand behind Fynta's head so that he could hold her closer, burying his face against her neck. His wife smelled  _real_. The scent of blaster oil and vibrancy that he couldn't forget even after her face had faded from memory. Aric wanted to tell Fynta that he'd missed her, that he'd never forgotten, but the words wouldn't form.

Fynta cleared her throat, and Jorgan realized how stiff she felt in his arms. Her hands rested on his shoulders, loose, neither pulling him close. Jorgan leaned back to look into her eyes. They were the same eyes that he'd lost himself in so many times, but there was something missing. He couldn't put his finger on what. "Fynta," Jorgan's voice started to break but he coughed to cover it. "What happened?"

When Fynta's expression hardened, Aric looked over her head at Theron. The man sighed and shrugged. "It's a long story, probably best suited for a more secure location."

Jorgan looked back at his wife, still standing awkwardly in his grasp. When Cormac advanced, the Cathar held up a hand. "Theron's right," he said in a commanding tone without taking his eyes from Fynta's. She held his gaze defiantly. "We should get somewhere safe."

Cormac stepped back with furrowed brows, looking to the others for answers that they didn't have. Kanner defused the situation by offering a salute. "It's an honor to meet you, Colonel."

"Colonel?" Fynta's eyebrows drew together even as she nodded to the younger woman.

Something shot overhead, then a spotlight shone down on them. Introductions would have to continue later. "Your landing didn't go unnoticed." Priming his rifle, Aric took aim at the probe.

"Good thing we didn't land," Fynta replied, though it lacked any of her normal playfulness. She lifted her glove to her lips. "Koth, get the ship out of here, we've got company. I'll contact you later."

Jorgan took a breath, counted to three, and squeezed the trigger. The RPG left a trail of smoke behind as it soared towards the target. Two seconds later, the probe erupted in a ball of flame and crashed into the swamp a klick to the east. Jorgan turned to speak to his squad, but his words were drowned out by the unfamiliar  _clack, clack, clack_  of Fynta's rifle.

**The Endless Swamp**

Fynta moved closer to the smoking walker. Major Jorgan stalked behind, keeping his distance, but she felt his eyes on her. The ambush had been light by Arcann's standards, leaving Fynta antsy and ready to find shelter. There had to be more.

Using the wrap around camera in her helmet, Fynta watched the Cathar. He'd performed impressively during the fight, divvying out orders with a calm, albeit, growling tone, while keeping Theron from getting himself killed. As far as first impressions went, Fynta couldn't find anything to correct.

"Kanner, get Theron back to camp," Jorgan ordered. The woman's helmet dipped in understanding, and she snagged Theron by the collar to tug him away. For once, the man didn't complain, though Fynta had enjoyed watching him get dragged all over the swamp. "We'll cover their retreat." Jorgan approached Fynta slowly, as if scared of spooking her. She had to admit that he wasn't far off in his assumption.

Fynta faced the Cathar, doing her best to add a playful note to her tone. "Just like old times?"

A light chuckle rewarded Fynta's efforts, though Jorgan didn't look at her. "Just don't make me look bad in front of the new blood." She waited for him to get his bearings, keen eyes taking in the trees and rocky cliff faces surrounding them. Fynta knew from his file that Major Jorgan was an accomplished sniper, and assumed that he was looking for a perch. Her deduction was proven correct when Jorgan finally settled on a direction and slipped his helmet on. "Come on, I need a good vantage."

Fynta followed as Jorgan wove through trees without missing a step. He kept his shoulders hunched forward, weight on the balls of his feet, and made less noise that she did. If what she had seen so far was any indication, then Fynta could understand what had attracted her to the major in the first place. While they wore helmets, it was easy to forget that he wasn't human. Until he spoke. The growled words sent a shiver down her spine.

"You've met the current emperor?" Jorgan asked over their open mic. Fynta had grudgingly given him access to her private channel. She almost refused on the principle of avoiding distraction, but that felt like the coward's way out.

"I have," Fynta answered, deciding to keep her responses as simple as possible. She didn't want to get into the complexities of their relationship in the field.

Jorgan's helmet tilted over his shoulder. Fynta thought back to the cold, blue eyes from his military file, and how she'd seen none of that from the man who greeted her in the swamp. She'd never shied away from physical contact before, but the eagerness with which the major embraced her set off every alarm in her mind. She fought the instinct to run before things got complicated.  _Well, more complicated._

Pulling up short, Jorgan leaned over a ledge near a waterfall. "Watch my six," he said, dropping onto his stomach and looking down his scope. Fynta crouched at his feet, keeping her eyes forward and off the shapely derriere behind her. "So, what's your opinion on Arcann?"

"He's every bit the Sith his father was," Fynta answered. "I was only able to kill Valkorion with Arcann's help. Then, the smug shabuir turned on me." The dead emperor murmured in the back of Fynta's mind, and she shut her eyes to focus on ridding herself of his voice. The deep, regal tones set her teeth on edge and made her head feel like it would split open.

"Figures," Jorgan grunted. "Nothing but despots left in this galaxy."

Fynta spared a glance behind her. Jorgan lay perfectly still, only the whir of his scope giving any indication that he sought a target. "Is that why you went rogue?" It wasn't an accusation, but the Cathar tensed all the same.

"Partially," Jorgan answered after a while. "I'll fight for the Republic until the day I die, but not for someone's political agenda." Fynta heard the Cathar's heavy breaths over their link and knew a rant was forthcoming. She wondered how many she'd listened to over the years.

Jorgan released an elongated sigh. "To be perfectly honest, I came for you." The words were low, almost as if he were ashamed to say them. Fynta couldn't understand why, until he spoke again. "I thought you were dead."

The urge to comfort the Cathar nearly overwhelmed Fynta. It was a terrifying moment of weakness that she couldn't afford. No doubt Valkorion already had plans for Havoc Squad now that they were back in her life. She needed a way to negate as much of his damage as possible. Fynta released a humorless laugh. The fate of the galaxy literally depended on her love life. How fierfeking screwed up was that?

"Hold on." Jorgan's voice rumbled through Fynta's thoughts, bringing her back to the situation at hand. "I've got something."

Fynta edged towards Jorgan, propping on her elbows next to his. The pair squeezed between an outcropping of rocks on the left and a solid tree to the right. The lack of space pressed their bodies close together. Fynta could feel his warmth through her armor. Jorgan must have noticed the same, because his breathing hitched.

"Civvies," the Cathar commented in a tight voice. "And Skytroopers. Looks like trouble."

Without thinking, Fynta rose to a crouch and slung her rifle over one shoulder. "Keep the pressure on those droids until I've engaged."

"Affirmative," Jorgan answered without hesitation. "Give them hell, sir."

Fynta grabbed the thick moss hanging over their ledge and swung down. She was halfway down the rocky hillside when the first shot rang out.

**Zakuul  
** **Havoc Base Camp**

Cormac snagged Theron by the back of the neck and yanked him behind a tent. Using his superior weight, Cormac pinned the SIS agent against the rock face and pressed a blaster under his chin. "What did you do to Fynta?"

Theron met Cormac's gaze. He was a trained agent, and refused to let an army grunt know that he'd been rattled. "No idea what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that osik," Cormac spat, pressing harder against Theron's windpipe. The former agent didn't miss the use of Mando'a, or its symbolism. "I know that woman better than anyone else in this galaxy, except Jorgan. That is  _not_  Fynta Wolfe. So, what did you lot to her while keeping her a secret from us?"

Theron realized that he'd vastly underestimated Balic Cormac as his airway slowly clamped shut. The man who held him, feet nearly off the ground, was not the lovable lug he'd met on Rishi. The hatred in those dark eyes belonged to a man who felt someone he loved had been wronged, and he was going to make it right for them.

Realizing that no matter what Theron did, it would likely piss someone off, he patted Cormac's forearm. The big man released enough pressure for Theron to breath, but he didn't relax the vice-like grip. "Start talking, Spook."

"Something happened while Fynta was in carbonite." Theron swallowed against the palm of Cormac's hand. "I can't go into details, not here, but it affected her memories." Revealing that much added another reason for Fynta to kill him, but Theron needed help to get her sorted. Help from people that she might actually listen to. Last Theron had checked, she'd forbidden Kozen to look into her mind and would not be moved on the matter.

Cormac released Theron so suddenly that he staggered forward. Balic paled, his breathing ragged. "How bad is it?"

Theron rubbed his neck, then patted the man's large bicep. "Not good, but maybe Havoc can make a difference. Just," Theron paused to search for the right words. "Try to be patient with her."

"Seems like you're telling people that a lot, lately." That, at least, confirmed that Jorgan trusted Cormac enough to confide Theron's warning with him. "Does she know who we are?" Cormac asked, cutting to the point. Theron winced at the anguish in his voice, but couldn't bring himself to answer.

After several seconds of the two men staring at one another, Cormac heaved a sigh and nodded. "We'll do whatever we have to." The big man turned away, but Theron was sure he'd seen the glimmer of tears in Cormac's eyes. He wondered what it must be like to care that deeply for someone, to weep at the thought of them being taken from you, even though their body was still present.

"Hey, the major is back with civs in tow. Let's make room," Kanner called from the other side of the tent. "You alright, Cormac?"

"Peachy," the man grumbled. "I'll secure the perimeter."

**Havoc Squad  
Command Base**

Keenly aware of Jorgan's gaze, Fynta unfastened her armor piece by piece. The Cathar sat silently on his cot, but she felt his eyes following her fingers, learning where the clasps were so that he could do the job himself next time. That's how a proper Mandalorian would do it. Surely a Cathar wouldn't be far from that mindset, they were as much a warrior race as her own. Fynta had a plan, and if her husband was so intent on undressing her, then it would make things a lot easier.

Felix had called Jorgan the  _alpha male_  sort, the kind who liked the sound of his own voice. Granted, Iresso hadn't been under Jorgan's command for nearly fifteen years. In Fynta's experience, men like that seldom changed. She'd distract Major Jorgan long enough to finish this mission, then deal with the consequences later.

Jorgan cleared his throat, pulling Fynta from her private thoughts. "When did you cut your hair?"

Fynta dropped her pauldron too soon, then cringed when it clattered down the pile of armor that she'd already laid aside. Her movement grew stiff as she ran a self-conscious hand over the short length before placing the next plate down more gently. "Compliments of Arcann," she answered with forced casualness as she faced Jorgan. "Don't worry, I didn't tip."

Jorgan's brows furrowed. The expression did interesting things to the markings on his face. "Arcann?"

Fynta threw her final plate onto the pile and stretched. She saw Jorgan's eyes darken with something not unlike hunger as they traced over her body. His gaze settled on her ass, and Fynta knew it was time to strike when he licked his lips. "It's not important," she commented with a wave. Jorgan's throat moved when she took one of his hands, but only silence followed. Fynta continued in a more seductive voice. "There are more enjoyable ways for us to spend the evening, don't you think?"

Jorgan's free hand settled on Fynta's hip; his firm grip rested above the prosthetic with warm familiarity. She glided into his lap, felt his breath against her neck. The Cathar's hands tangled in Fynta's hair to bring her mouth to his. She rocked her hips, dragging a sound from him that was part growl, part moan.

The vibrations sent chills over Fynta's body and awakened a primal need. She deepened their kiss and lost herself in the smell of sweat, battle, and a woodsy scent that could only be the Cathar himself. Jorgan's hands roamed over her body with an expertise that spoke of years of practice. Then, he whispered her name.

Fynta pulled back, heart pounding. Jorgan spoke her name like a prayer, far too reverent for a man seeking an easy lay. Suddenly, Fynta had a taste of what it meant to marry a Cathar. This man had been a loyal husband for the last five years, and would remain so until death. She'd be more of a bastard for manipulating him than Valkorion had been for stealing her memories.

Searching Aric's eyes, Fynta teetered on indecision. Whatever her choice, it would impact the direction their relationship took in the future. While she hesitated, Jorgan sighed. "Tell me what happened."

"What do you mean?" Fynta's feigned ignorance had little effect on the Cathar. Jorgan raised a brow, then reached around her to retrieve his datapad.

Fynta waited while Jorgan scrolled through his messages to reveal a cryptic text from Theron. She wanted to be angry, but Fynta had devoted so much energy to their tumultuous relationship that she wasn't sure it could be escalated. Steeling herself for a conversation that she hadn't planned to have until safely back on Odessen, Fynta pushed out of Jorgan's lap to pace the tent. "How much do you know?"

Jorgan set the device aside, then threaded long fingers together while propping his elbows on his knees. "Only that Valkorion somehow damaged your mind while you were imprisoned."

"Carbonite," Fynta corrected, crossing her arms and glaring at the dirt floor. "Arcann trapped me in carbonite, and Valkorion got inside my head. Literally." Fynta tapped her temple. "I don't know how the bastard did it, but he transferred his consciousness to me before he died."

"Like on Ziost?" Jorgan asked, and Fynta heard the tremor in his voice. She remembered the carnage of the now dead planet. It shouldn't surprise her that he had been there. According to his file, Jorgan was second in command of Havoc Squad during that time. Fynta wondered if the others had been there too.

When the silence dragged on too long, Jorgan prompted Fynta to continue by speaking her name. The weight behind it spoke of a man who dreaded the answer, but who might be prepared to take action if Fynta gave the wrong one. She shook her head, and Aric let out a long breath, his shoulders shagging forward.

"He's weaker, I think. Only takes control if I let him," Fynta explained. The Cathar's lips pressed into a thin line, and even having no former knowledge of him, Fynta saw the argument building. "Yes, I allowed it once, to save Lana. And, I've already been chewed out by everyone on the War Council, so save it."

Jorgan's lips twitched upward in an unexpected smirk. "What else?"

Fynta began to pace again. They had an important op planned for the morning, and the last thing she needed was to have her soldiers distracted by things they couldn't change. Jorgan stood, hesitated only a fraction of a second, then closed the space and put his hands on Fynta's shoulders. "What else?" He pressed, fingers squeezing lightly.

Heaving a sigh, Fynta met her husband's eyes. They were open, honest, and more compelling than she wanted to admit. "It's complicated." Jorgan's lips parted, but Fynta pressed on before he could argue. "But, I'll do my best to explain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally wrote the chapter five times. Complications like these seem like a great idea when you're brainstorming, then you have to actually make them work. :P


	18. Reaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormac is forced to face a future without his best friend for the first time since she vanished. The Alliance joins forces with Havoc to take on the listening post. Theron reevaluates his life's decisions, and Fynta is just trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song _Here With Me_ by Susie Suh 
> 
> _This feeling begins, just like a spark_   
>  _Tossing and turning inside of your heart_   
>  _Exploding in the dark_
> 
> _Calling your name in the midnight hour_   
>  _Reaching for you from the endless dream_   
>  _So many miles between us now_   
>  _But you are always here with me_

**Zakuul  
Havoc Command Base**

Cormac squinted into the darkness where Fynta's new squadmates huddled. They counted ammo with Xaban and a couple of the refugees, carrying on like they belonged. A wave of jealousy wash over Balic when the Zabrak female pointed towards the bosses' tent where Fynta and Jorgan had vanished some time ago. If everything Theron said was true,  _they_ were Fynta's new family, the people she trusted to watch her back.

Grinding his teeth, Cormac forced his attention away from what he couldn't control stare into the bleakness of a noisy swamp. The constant gloom wasn't helping his mood, nor was the fact that he hadn't been able to get anywhere near Fynta since she'd arrived. "It's always so shabbing dark here," he complained. The canopy was so thick that it blotted out what little sun could reach this forsaken dump. Not to mention, the humidity and unending klicks of green.

"It's 2000 hours, what did you expect?" Kanner responded, though Cormac noted that even she couldn't keep her eyes off Jorgan's tent. While Cormac just wanted to talk to his best friend, the rest of Havoc were intrigued by Fynta. She was an enigma to them, some mythological creature made flesh.

Cormac's lip pulled back in a weak impression of Jorgan's  _stupid rookie_  snarl. "Yeah, but it's the same now as it was this morning." Kanner shrugged and resituated her rifle, which irritated Cormac all the more. He harrumphed. "There's something seriously wrong about this place."

Movement drew Balic's attention as Jorgan slipped from his tent into the shadows behind it. A moment later, Fynta appeared. She walked past Balic, moving directly towards her squad. After a few minutes of watching her slap another big, nearly bald guy on the back while laughing, Cormac decided to check on his CO. "Think I'm going to answer nature's call," he stated without looking at Kanner. "I'll be back." She offered a grunt of acknowledgment rather than commenting.

Balic found Jorgan concealed by the camp lamps in deep shadow, hands gripping either side of a tree like it was the only thing holding him up. The Cathar pressed his forehead into the rough bark, and didn't stir when Cormac approached. "So, it's true?" He hadn't been able to think of anything except Theron's claim that Fynta had lost her memory. The misery on Jorgan's face was answer enough.

Cormac slouched against a crate and ran a hand down his face. "How bad?"

Jorgan glanced at Cormac from the corner of his eye for a long moment, then shook his head. He kept his back towards Balic, as if he preferred the darkness. "Bad," Jorgan finally ground out. "She doesn't remember—" the Cathar's voice broke, and he took a steadying breath. "She can't remember anything from the time she joined Havoc. At least, nothing about us. Some superficial memories remain."

"But," Cormac swallowed to prepare himself for the next statement. He couldn't allow his heartbreak show. Jorgan needed a steadfast shoulder to deal with this. "Surely she remembers you. I mean, you're her lifemate—"

Jorgan's fist slammed into the tree. "She doesn't remember!" The Cathar pressed a thumb and forefinger into his eyes and sighed. Cormac remained quiet while his old friend collected himself. "Shan suggested that Fynta should research us and play her part to keep the rest of the Alliance from losing confidence in her leadership."

Silence stretched as Cormac tried to reconcile the idea of Fynta  _pretending_ to know them. "Shit." He finally offered, unable to think of anything else to say. The chirps of insects filled the void between them until Cormac crossed his arms. "So, will you?" He wondered what his role in all of this would be. If Jorgan wanted to beat some sense into Fynta, Balic would hold her down. That would be easier than acting like his heart wasn't shattering.

Jorgan stared at his shoes. When he finally spoke, the sound was no louder than a whisper. "I'm going back with her to see what the Alliance has to offer, then we'll go from there."

"What do you want me to do?" The thought of his friend facing this alone twisted Balic's gut. "Maybe I should tag along."

"No," Jorgan stated with another jerk of his head. "Stay here and focus on our goals."

Cormac nodded, though he couldn't shake the sick feeling that Jorgan was walking into an ambush with no backup. "Do they have any idea how to get her memory back?"

Jorgan took a deep breath, spine straightening as he regained his composure and became the stoic leader that Cormac knew so well. "A few, but Fynta wants to focus on Arcann first." He made a face, curling his lip to bare sharp teeth. "I guess I should call her, the  _Commander,_ now."

With a weary countenance, Jorgan waved a hand at Cormac. "Go back to Kanner, I'll be there shortly to finalize the details for tomorrow's op. Don't do anything to expose Fynta to the others."

"You sure you don't want me to come along? I'm sure between the two of us we could bodge her memories back into place." Jorgan offered a pathetic chuckle, but Cormac had only been partially kidding. Still, he knew that Havoc Squad needed at least one adult around, even if Cormac barely qualified. "Fine, but my offer stands."

Jorgan grunted and stalked towards the command tent where Fynta's squad had already gathered. Balic watched the man go, wondering if he'd doomed the Cathar to a worse hell than the one they'd left behind.

**Odessen**  
**War Room  
** **Attack on Zakuulan Listening Outpost**

"Theron, you've got two Skytroopers on your tail." Zolah glanced up to monitor her lover's progress before turning her attention to another screen. "Kaliyo, a single shot to the processor will do. We don't have time for scavenging."

Vector stood not far away, monitoring Fynta and Major Jorgan while they infiltrated the main listening post. Everyone else was supposed to be providing a distraction, but it didn't appear to have helped the commander and her forgotten husband much. "Apologies," Vector began. "Everyone else is otherwise engaged. You and Major Jorgan will have to make due."

The Cathar's curse echoed through the war room, and Zolah shared a knowing glance with her husband. She'd never seen Jorgan so on edge, even after he discovered that Zolah was the one who tried to kill Fynta on Manaan.

One of the techs signaled for Zolah's attention. She offered one last encouragement via earpiece for Theron to run faster before leaning over the man who'd called for an assist. His screen lit up with a lightning storm so bright that Zolah had to shield her eyes. The tech gestured in annoyance, and Zolah switched frequencies. "Lord Beniko, Senya can hold her own, but Master Vaa is about to be overrun." Honestly, running mission control in the Alliance was like wrangling a bunch of younglings.

"I'll handle it," Kozen answered at the same time that Notiac reported more Skytroopers inbound.

The room fell silent while they waited for further information. Zolah focused on her heartbeat, forcing a calm exterior for the sake of those under her command. When the Barsen'thor spoke again, it was with an equally serene tone. "The dropship is heading for the main outpost."

Zolah hurried to Vector's side while he relayed Notiac's warning. She watched the commanders' progression to where the rest of Havoc Squad had set up a perimeter. Jorgan's second in command urged Cormac to speed up as he dragged Xaban up the ramp. He dropped the oversize Twi'liek in front of Fynta's armor cam, and she staggered to the side when their Kel'dor medic shoved her out of his way to reach his comrade. Meanwhile, the others continued to lay down cover fire. The team worked in perfect synchronicity, but all Zolah could think was how frustrating it would be to have so many people in the field with her.

Jorgan divvied out orders, but cut off when the sound of engines drowned him out. Every helmet tipped backward to reveal the dropship overhead. Fynta sighed. "Any last words?"

"Stow that garbage," Jorgan snarled. He hesitated a moment before adding, "and, I love you."

Zolah and Vector shared another glance before he muted the microphone. She crossed her arms, not needing to convey her thoughts to the man next to her. Aric Jorgan had just professed his love in front of witnesses, and only one thought came to mind.  _Fynta won't like that._

**Zakuul  
** **Havoc Command Base**

"It's a kriffing mess here." Theron ran a hand through his hair. Judging by the amusement twinkling in Zolah's red eyes, the act had succeeded in making it stand on end again. "If I don't make it back to Odessen, tell Lana she can have my collection of rum." He grimaced at the grime built up under his fingernails and longed for the shower aboard the Gravestone. According to the powers that be, the whole camp would be shipping out soon except for Havoc Squad and the exiles who'd bailed them out of a Skytrooper ambush.

Zolah leaned an elbow on the table, allowing Theron a glimpse of the purple nightgown that she favored. Even though the her black hair was mussed from sleep, the Chiss sounded fully awake when she spoke. "Are you sure you're not being just a little dramatic?"

Theron shook his head. "I don't know what happened in that listening post, but neither Fynta nor Aric have looked at each other since we got back. Let's not forget that they are both ready to kill me, for two completely different reasons, I might add. I just—" He blew air through his lips. How could Theron explain the connection that he still felt towards Fynta? It wasn't romantic, it never had been. Chemical, maybe, but no longer sexual. Theron would like to call the Mandalorian a friend, but even that didn't quite fit them. Shaking those thoughts away, he changed his wording. "She needs her family."

Zolah straightened to look over her shoulder. Judging by her smile, Vector had joined them. Theron's tension eased when the Joiner leaned into the holo. "Hard choices rarely lead to easy outcomes."

Theron knew that, but hearing someone else say it, someone who didn't kill people for a living, made all the difference. Vector offered a reassuring smile. "Fynta is not the type to hold a grudge for long. She'll get over this, perhaps even see the heart behind it one day."

"But," Zolah cut in. "It would be wise to stay in her blind spot until then." Theron snorted, then felt a cold chill run down his spine when Vector nodded in agreement. The Joiner's background in diplomacy, along with his connection to the Killik hive, gave him special insight into how sentient beings thought; Theron trusted Vector's opinion.

Theron's smart-assed response faltered when he caught sight of Cormac heading for the commanders' tent. The spy in him took notice of an opportunity to gauge the situation. There wasn't much more that Zolah or Vector could say to help, anyway. "I'm going to let you both go. See you at home."

Theron cut the feed and stowed his datapad. With a quick glance around, he slipped into the overgrowth ringing the camp. It was harder to avoid notice now that the exiles had taken up permanent residence. Jorgan wanted to train them, and Theron couldn't deny that they'd come in handy at the ambush site. Had Pashna not shown up when he did, they'd have been overrun and suffered significant casualties rather than a few, minor injuries.

It took a few detours, but Theron finally reached the back of Fynta's tent at the same time that Cormac rapped on the stiff frame surrounding the door. "Enter." Fynta's answer sounded muffled through the thick fabric, but Theron thought he could make out enough to get an idea of how well Havoc's integration had gone.

The door creaked open, and Theron watched the shadows move inside. Cormac's bulk was unmistakable against the lamplight, and Theron guessed that Fynta was hunched at a desk, judging by the lack of detail to her shape.

"Sergeant Cormac, what can I do for you?" Theron held his breath. To his knowledge, Fynta had never addressed anyone in her squad by their rank. Not unless they'd pissed her off, anyway, or if she were trying to impress some importance on them. The woman simply wasn't wired for the formality.

"Commander, I—" Cormac hesitated, and Theron remembered the pain in those dark eyes. He'd never seen a man react so openly to grief, especially not a soldier. The memory haunted Theron, but he couldn't explain why. "I missed you, sir. We all did."

The pause that followed carried on so long that Theron began to question whether or not they'd slipped out without his notice. He almost jumped when Fynta spoke again, and not out of surprise. "How much do you know?" The coldness in her tone upset Theron, but again, he wasn't sure why apart than the knowledge that it wasn't right. Everything about Fynta Wolfe was wrong, and he couldn't fix it. That must be it. Theron didn't like puzzles that he couldn't solve.

Cormac's shadow drifted lower, and Theron heard the squeak of a cot. "Enough. No one else does, but you can't ask a man to bear that kind of secret alone." Fynta didn't respond, and Theron really wished that she would. "You and I, we were proper mates, you know," Cormac continued, rambling on as if he they carried his very soul with them. "And, Elara was damn near a sister to you. We've been looking for you, for years, but the army being what it is…."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Fynta assured, her voice softer this time. Still, it wasn't  _familiar_ , simply understanding. "I never expected a rescue."

"No offense, but I don't buy that." Cormac shoved to his feet, a hulking shadow that stalked behind a veil. "You knew we'd come for you, and we failed. You're being punished for that, and I just wanted you to know that I won't let it happen again. We'll figure out a way to get your memories back."

Fynta didn't hesitate. Her voice took on a matronly tone, one that Theron was familiar with and almost certainly wouldn't fool Cormac. "I appreciate that, sergeant, but first, we need to kill that shabuir sitting on the Eternal Throne. Then, we can worry about my amnesia."

Balic stopped mid-stride. "If you knew what you were missing, I don't think you'd agree, sir."

"One thing at a time, soldier," Fynta answered, fake endearment still in place. "Now, I need to finish this report while it's fresh in my memory. We bug out in two hours. Jorgan said you had the camp while he's gone, so get some rest while you can."

Theron waited until the man left, watching while Fynta's shape bent closer to the desk. Her posture was too small to be working on reports, and the long sigh she released made Theron feel like a bastard for eavesdropping. No, his plan wasn't going well at all. Instead of offering a possible safe haven for their commander, he'd inadvertently heaped more stress on her.  _Is this really it?_  Theron wondered.  _Is this all that's left of the unstoppable Fynta Wolfe?_

**The Gravestone  
** **Nineteen Hours until Odessen**

Fynta couldn't decide which was more disconcerting: Jorgan's presence at her back or the fact that she wasn't concerned about his motives.  _He said that he loved you_ , a voice whispered in the back of her mind while they traversed the Gravestone's many hallways.  _But, people say all types of stupid things when faced with death._

Fynta had always believed that there was no better way to understand a person than to fight by their side. People seldom impressed her to the degree that Jorgan had. He moved like he could read Fynta's mind, when to take control and when to drop back. Never once had he needed direction. They'd functioned as a team, and all the while, Valkorion remained silent. That bothered Fynta more than anything. The old shabuir wanted her to get to know Jorgan, but to what end?

"This is an impressive ship," Jorgan commented as they turned yet another corner, pulling Fynta from her thoughts. She'd offered to give the Cathar a tour to avoid being alone in their room together, but she was running out of corridors. "How long did it take before you stopped getting lost?"

Fynta missed a step, then glared over her shoulder. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She was lying, of course, and Jorgan's smirk hinted that he knew it. In truth, it had taken Fynta the entire week of travel before she could find anywhere other than the bridge intentionally. She looked forward and ground her teeth. "A while."

Jorgan's low chuckle sent a shiver through Fynta. Shab, she hated that. "It's good to see that the Verpine still works."

Fynta's hand went instinctively to the weapon at her hip. She'd run out of ammo for her rifle and had resorted to pot shots with the blaster. She'd even punched one of those shabbing droids in the face; her hand still ached from it. Flexing her fingers, Fynta tested the waters of her locked memories. "So, I take it this thing is important to me?" It had been the only thing that Fynta could grab of her old belongings while escaping Zakuul.

Jorgan grew quiet for a long time. When he answered, his voice sounded thick. "I made it for your birthday. The real one, not the one in your file."

"Oh." Fynta lifted her hand carefully from the hilt. Somehow, knowing that the weapon had been a gift from Aric made her feel unworthy of touching it.

They came to the end of the hallway, and Fynta stopped before the closed door. "Here we are, our quarters." She placed her hand to the biometric lock and wondered if she should code Jorgan's in as well.

The door slid open, and Fynta stalked into the small space. Jorgan hesitated, silhouetting his body against the light outside. She dropped her helmet on the bed. "Going to stand in the doorway the whole trip?"

Jorgan stepped in enough for the panel the shut behind them. Once secured from prying ears, Fynta allowed herself to feel the burn of annoyance that she'd buried after her visit from the Havoc sergeant. "I know you spoke to Cormac."

"You should have been the one to tell him," Jorgan answered. "That man has worshiped you since the day you met. He's the only one who refused to believe that you might be dead." Agony mixed with irritation, causing the facial markings on Jorgan's face to contort in a fearsome display.

Fynta shoved her fists into her hips and glared at Jorgan. "There wasn't time." The Cathar's expression didn't soften. Fynta held up her hand when he started to argue. "Okay, fine, I could have said something, but what that hell was I supposed to tell him? I hadn't even planned on telling you." Fynta flapped her arms, then stormed across the small space to punch the wall in aggravation when it impeded her retreat. Pain flared in her hand, but she refused to show weakness in front of him.

"No, you planned to seduce me, then act like nothing happened, right?" Jorgan's anger made no sense to Fynta. Sure, that had been the plan, but she hadn't gone through with it. They'd talked, a peculiar experience for her, then parted ways on shaky ground.

"Does it really matter?" Fynta asked as she faced him, curious rather than bating. Aric Jorgan was a born leader: gruff, aggressive, and intimidating in a certain environment. That was the extent of her knowledge. The thought that he understood her so well, while she knew next to nothing about him, terrified her.

Aric ran a hand down his face and released an exasperated breath. "I really don't see the problem," Fynta continued. "I'm your mate, right?" Why should he care about her mental state so long as it didn't violate his cultural laws?

"No—" Jorgan stopped when Fynta's eyebrow rose. "I mean, yes, but it doesn't mean the same to you right now." He sighed, hands swinging limply by his sides.

Fynta didn't know what to make of Jorgan's answer. If he'd held true to Cathar tradition, then the man hadn't touched a woman in more than five years. That was one hell of a dry patch, and for once, Fynta was grateful that she'd slept through most of hers.

Maybe Jorgan could sense that Fynta was the wrong woman for him, that his wife was dead. "Aric." His eyes met hers at the sound of his name. A name that felt a little less foreign on her tongue than it had before meeting the Cathar. "If you'd rather end this, I'm sure that I can come up with some way to save our reputations."

Jorgan snarled, an animalistic sound that set Fynta on the defensive. "Cathar mate for life." Each word sounded clipped through his bared teeth as he pinned Fynta with a fierce gaze.

Fynta nodded, doing her best to hide the way her heart pounded. "Very well." She covered the uncharacteristic nervousness by approaching Jorgan. There was only one, sure way to quell the beast the hid inside every man's heart. If Jorgan wouldn't take the out, then they might as well move forward. Fynta had never been the celibate type.

Placing a hand on Jorgan's arm, Fynta ignored the way his muscles twitched under the fibermesh bodysuit, and met his eyes with a seductive smile. "We might as well get something out of this arrangement, don't you think?"

Jorgan's mouth opened, then snapped shut again. Fynta continued, letting her fingers drift up his arm. "I don't want you to suffer for a problem that isn't yours." Her tone softened. For a moment, she thought that he might give in, then the Cathar's jaw tightened, and Fynta sighed. She removed her hand and put more space between them. "They shouldn't have contacted you. I'm sorry. I'll make this as painless as possible, even enjoyable, if you change your mind."

"Fynta." Jorgan's voice sounded raw. His arm lifted, only to fall back to his side. "What do you want?"

No one had ever asked Fynta that. She faltered. Fynta was a weapon, a damn good one. She lived for the rush of the mission and nothing more. "I don't understand what you mean." Another lie. She knew exactly what Jorgan was asking, but didn't have an answer. Fynta needed time to formulate a convincing half-truth. Something told her that he'd know if she lied outright.

Jorgan saw through Fynta's ploy before it even began. "Yes, you do."

Fynta considered the Cathar, keeping her heart intentionally distant from the hope burning in his eyes. She settled for as vague an answer as she could manage. "I want to believe that this is real, but in war, soldiers like us don't get to be happy. We're tools, nothing else."

Jorgan grabbed Fynta by the shoulders so suddenly that she almost punched him. "No," he growled. "That's Resource 475-0RC talking. I want to know what  _you_ want when the war is over."

"You shouldn't know that name," Fynta stated, her tone flat. His knowledge carried only one possibility. She'd given him her file, the one that she'd never allow someone she cared about to see.

Jorgan's hands slipped from Fynta's shoulders. He took a step back as if sensing her rising panic. To distract herself, Fynta fingered the band around her wrist. Jorgan's eyes widened, and he lifted her arm with a tight-lipped smile. His grip was loose enough to allow Fynta to break free the need arise. "You gave this to me after we exchanged vows."

"How did it end up on my wrist?" More importantly, how could Fynta believe that a Cathar would wear anything with Mando'a branded on it.

Slowly, Jorgan raised his other hand to brush his fingers over the worn leather. "We swapped tokens the day you stepped aboard Marr's ship." He released Fynta's arm to tug a chain from beneath his underarmor. The white jewel dangling below caught her attention. "This is yours, if you want it."

It was an odd gem, not white after all, but dancing with colors depending on how the light hit it. For reasons unknown, Fynta nodded. Without a word, Jorgan unclasped the link, then slipped it behind her neck. Fynta noted that while he didn't touch her skin, his fingers lingered in her hair. It wasn't until Jorgan stepped away that he cleared his throat. "I've returned this to you quite a few times, actually. The last being after you lost your leg." He nodded towards her prosthetic, "Still holding up, alright?"

Fynta toyed with the necklace, answering without thought. "It didn't, at first. I had to have it recalibrated." Jorgan winced, and Fynta wondered what she'd said wrong this time.

Letting the gem fall from her fingers, Fynta reached for the leather band. Jorgan stopped her with a hand over it. The warmth of that touch was staggering. "Give it back when you're ready." Fynta met his gaze, and a strange swirl of emotion stole her voice. Jorgan offered a small smile. "I'm not going anywhere."

Jorgan turned away, but paused when Fynta called after him. "Did we really work?" His commitment seemed real enough, but why? "A Mandalorian and a Cathar?"

Fynta saw Jorgan's shoulders rise and fall before he faced her again. Even though the corner of his mouth pulled into a half-smile, sadness clouded his eyes. "We were unstoppable."


	19. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shillet starts to make plans that will most likely end badly. Fynta tests Lana's patience, but makes a new friend. Jorgan gets to reminisce about all the times that Fynta has blown them up, first hand. And, Verin gets the shock of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Mando'a translations, plus a scene index (for those who started with this part of the series) will be at the bottom.**  
> 
> *The title of this chapter comes from the song, _Battlefield_ by Svrcina (Technically, so does the title for the entire series, but this one is more specific)
> 
> _I will be your sword, your shield, your camouflage_   
>  _And you will be mine_
> 
> _Echoes and the shots ring out_   
>  _We may be the first to fall_   
>  _Everything can stay the same or we could change it all_
> 
> **Noara Starspark belongs to kunoichi-ume on Tumblr, or you can find her under the author Keirra on here and FFN. Which I highly suggest.

**Coruscant**  
**Residential Sector  
** **Apartment 7865**

 _He's still alive._  Shillet barely remembered what she'd learned at school. She'd woken to an encrypted databurst, something Aric had taught her how to read as a means of primitive communication when he couldn't get to a comm. The keyword was  _curfew_. A reminder of all the times she'd broken into the base to visit during lights out.

Shillet hated when Aric went dark, but he'd never gone AWOL before. She hadn't known if he would ever contact her again. Nightmares of the Cathar rotting in some pit on the other side of the galaxy, without Shillet ever knowing, plagued her sleep. At least now, if Aric stopped responding, it was because something had happened. That small string of numbers and letters was all the confirmation she needed that he hadn't abandoned her.

Still in a state of surreal euphoria, Shillet pushed through the front door of Elara's apartment. Voices drew her towards the office. She had every intention of poking her head around to say hello, but paused at the sound of Balic's voice. "I don't know what to do, Doll." Instead of announcing herself, the Nautolan pressed her back against the wall. "Jorgan's in rough shape." There was a long pause filled only by the pounding of Shillet's heart. "Tell me what to do."

"Let the thing run its course," Elara responded in a quiet tone. "They will figure it out."

 _Aric's in trouble._ The thought chased itself around in Shillet's mind until she felt dizzy. "Just be a friend to him," Elara continued. "And for Force sake, stay out of—" Elara stopped, and Shillet heard the unmistakable sound of her chair rolling across the floor.

Scurrying back to the foyer, Shillet tore at the buttons on her jacket. She had the garment lifted towards the hook by the door when Elara peered into the hall. "How long have you been home, little love?"

Blinking, Shillet smiled as she situated her coat. "Just got in." The Nautolan cast a furtive glance around and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial way. She hoped that any appearance of guilt might be attributed to her secret communications with a branded traitor. "I got a message this morning."

Elara's expression shifted from pinched to as relaxed as the former Havoc medic could get. "Yes, they are all safe." Tipping her head towards the sitting room, Elara smiled. "Alexei and Tayl are working on a new cipher, why don't you join them?" Shillet nodded, and Elara disappeared back into her office, this time, shutting the door.

As promised, Alexei hunched over his desk with a lip pulled back in repugnance at the antiquated device he'd disemboweled. He'd become the SIS's main technician. Basically, a glorified mechanic since the Republic's funds had been stretched thin. It was one of Aric's favorite rants. Shillet knew all about Republic economy and the strain that the false war against the Empire had taken on its people. The Zakuulan tax rose another thirteen percent at the turn of the year, and several of the poorer worlds bore the brunt of that financial weight. Not to mention, a few of the less funded government programs.

Ignoring the muttering that emanated from Alexei's corner of the room, Shillet flopped onto the sofa to see what Tayl was doing. He was half her age, but already smarter than most of their school. Balic always joked that Tayl had gotten Elara's brains, but Shillet knew the giant man-child could be clever when he put his mind to it.

Nudging Tayl playfully with her shoulder, Shillet peered over his elbow. "What are you working on?"

Tayl turned his datapad towards Shillet, but didn't answer. The boy's spirit had suffered lately. With each passing year, Tayl felt his father's absence more. Now that the entire school was calling Balic a traitor, Tayl retreated further into his shell. It didn't help that Shillet's classes were held across campus. She couldn't protect him like she used to.

"Hey, Tadpole, give me a hand here," Alexei growled.

Shillet ruffled Tayl's dark hair and slid from the sofa to see what Alexei needed. He wore the same, ridiculous glasses that he had the night she'd conned him into teaching her how to bug a comm unit. Alexei's face was so close to the wires that if they sparked, his eyebrows were bound to catch fire. "I need smaller hands to hold this still while I solder it."

Shillet obliged, weaving her arms through Alexei's to grab the tools. "How long has Elara been on the call?" If she asked the right questions, maybe her uncle would let something slip about Havoc's situation.

"Too long," Alexei answered, soft enough that Tayl wouldn't overhear. He kept his eyes straight, lips pressed together so tightly that they turned white. "She's pushing it. That's  _if_  the SIS hasn't already started a trace."

A sick feeling settled in Shillet's stomach. If the Republic found Aric before he completed his mission, they'd take him away forever. Shillet couldn't allow that to happen, but she wasn't sure how to stop it either. With the resolve that only an eleven-year-old could muster, Shillet decided that she'd do whatever was necessary. Her first priority was to find out more information on Havoc's current situation. All she knew at the moment was that something had gone terribly wrong, and her father was in the middle of it.

 **Odessen**  
**Indoor Training Facility**  
**Two Weeks After Zakuulan Listening Post Infiltration**

Lana knew exactly where to find her wayward commander and had to suppress a sigh at the crowd gathered in the hallway outside the gym. She'd been trying to reach Fynta for the better part of an hour and knew the woman had switched her comm off simply to be vexing. Under normal circumstances, Lana would have sent Theron, but the man all but ran whenever Fynta came into view. With Major Jorgan back on Odessen, the former spy was nowhere to be found.

Stopping in the hallway, Lana cleared her throat to get the attention of two soldiers blocking her path. The men stepped aside to reveal Fynta in the midst of a cheering crowd. A credit chip traded hands to Lana's left, and she pressed her lips together to keep from reprimanding them.

Forcing herself to ignore the rampant gambling, Lana sought out Fynta. Her opponent this time looked to be a young Jedi female. The women grappled for superiority, fingers locked and faces almost touching. Had it been Lana out there, she would have pinned Fynta with the Force and been done with it, however, the younger generation saw it as a rite of passage to best the commander by hand.

Lana grimaced when the raven haired woman lunged for Fynta, who grabbed her about the waist and flipped them both. They landed with the Jedi on the bottom and gasping, while Fynta rolled away with a laugh. "At least her lessons with Darth Kozen are going well," Lana mused to no one in particular.

"Fynta's training with a Sith?" Lana looked up to find Aric leaning around Felix Iresso, one of Notiac's companions that Fynta had claimed for her own. The two men shook hands, and Felix clapped the Cathar on the back before excusing himself. She got the distinct feeling this had not been their first meeting.

When Major Jorgan took up the vacated position, Lana nodded. "We felt it prudent, given how disastrous her last encounter with Arcann went."

The Cathar's brows drew together, frown deepening when he looked to where his wife circled with the now recovered Jedi. "She mentioned that in passing."

Lana nodded, assuming that Jorgan understood the weight of Fynta's calling. "Senya trains with her as well, though I believe Fynta is more comfortable with Kozen. Granted, she isn't overly fond of either." Jorgan tipped his head for Lana to continue, eyes never leaving the woman in question. No doubt he knew Fynta's view on the Force better than most. "How long has she been at this?"

Aric pulled the sleeve of his SpecForce jacket up enough to look at a wristchrono. "Forty-five minutes." Finally, he glanced down at Lana. "You know she's not cut out for administrative work."

"Yes, yes," Lana replied, waving a hand absently. Truth be told, she'd had no idea how unruly a commander Fynta would make. There were days when she considered letting the woman take to the front lines, if only to stop the incessant complaining about losing her edge. Lana had learned to keep such sentiments to herself to avoid Theron's smug responses.

"Perhaps now that you've returned, she'll settle a bit?" Lana startled when the Cathar laughed. It wasn't a sound she'd ever heard; a couple of the surrounding parties actually took a step away from them. Furrowing her brow, Lana sighed. "I suppose it was too much to hope for."

Aric folded his arms, attention once more fixed on the combatants. "The best way to keep Fynta under control is to give her an outlet for her aggression." He motioned towards the women with his chin. "Daily sparing isn't enough. She needs a weapon in her hands and armor on her back."

"I'll keep that in mind." The crowd cheered when the Jedi landed a blow that staggered Fynta. Lana took advantage of the noise. "And, how are you?"

Aric's posture stiffened, and a wave of misery blindsided Lana through the Force. "Fine," he snapped. When Lana held her tongue, his eyes shifted down to her again. "It's an adjustment."

Lana nodded, but felt it important that the Cathar understood where his peers stood on the matter. "In this, I support Theron's actions." Lana kept her words vague enough that Aric would catch on, but the average bypassers would remain ignorant of the real topic of their conversation. "Only time can heal the void created by her absence." By which, Lana meant that the War Council wouldn't rest until they'd restored Fynta's memories.

Aric inhaled, the length of which must surely test the limits of his lung capacity. "I appreciate it," he replied on the exhale.

Another cheer drowned out any further attempts at communication. Lana returned her attention back to the spectacle to find Fynta grasping her opponent's arm. She dispersed the crowd with a good natured curse, then brought the Jedi to where Lana and Aric stood.

"—keep your left arm up, and you won't get any more thumps." Fynta demonstrated as they walked, then looked to Lana. "What are you doing all the way down here favored advisor?" The grin on Fynta's face indicated that she already knew the answer.

Lana had intended to drag the insufferable woman upstairs to the meeting she was overdue for, however, another idea struck her. "I have a mission for you, something you would know if your comm was within reach."

Fynta wiped the sweat from her arms, visibly lighting up. "Don't keep me in suspense."

Tipping her head in acknowledgment to the Jedi, Lana continued, casting a suggestive glance at Jorgan. "An old colleague of Hirani's has contacted her. He's in the Old World, but wouldn't go into detail on why. She and Koth are heading that way in the morning, and the council would like you to accompany them."

Fynta's eyes narrowed. "I thought Senya said showing my face there so soon would be a bad idea."

Lana shrugged. "The majority of us believe that your continued presence on his world would keep Arcann off balance." It wasn't exactly a lie. She and Notiac had discussed it at length, and Theron agreed too. From what she knew of her fellows, Koth would certainly back their claim should it come to a vote.

It took nearly half a minute before Fynta answered, though no doubt the commander remained suspicious of Lana's motives. Not that it mattered, of course. The woman wouldn't be able to resist the pull of a challenge. "Fine, but, before you return back to your piles of datapads, I want you to put in a good word for Noara here. She's spunky. I like her." Fynta worked her jaw. "Hell of a right hook, too."

Lana turned a keen eye on the younger woman. She was thin, and her meager outfit displayed a lean musculature at odds with Fynta's heavier build. She'd adorned herself in loud makeup, perhaps as a form of rebellion against the strict code of the Jedi? Or maybe just personal taste. Most importantly, Noara was strong in the Force. Lana made a mental note to ask Notiac for more information about the newcomer later.

To Lana's knowledge, Noara was the only Force user not already laden with responsibilities within the Alliance that Fynta would tolerate. Someone eager to fight alongside the commander if her beaming smile was any indication. This youth's unexpected appearance might prove a way to satisfy both Fynta and Lana's goals when it came to her duties in the field.

Lana allowed herself a satisfied smirk. Yes, she could use this one.

 **Zakuul**  
**Havoc Base  
** **Day Two**

Fynta scowled at the duty roster. It wasn't that she'd been given the sunrise shift, but who her partner was. Fynta sat in the command tent, drumming her fingers on the table, while trying to parse out exactly why her stomach rolled at the thought of a four hour shift alone with Aric. She wanted to claim that it was bad form to send two ranking officers out together, but knew that was a justification. Mostly, it came down to the odd way Major Jorgan made her feel that started her palms sweating.

The hard frame door swung open to reveal an expression so stern, that Fynta wondered if it hurt. "I'm sorry," Jorgan began. "This wasn't my idea, and you can rest assured that the culprit will be cleaning latrines for a week."

"Ah," Fynta answered, finally grasping what had happened. "Cormac?" Jorgan's glower redoubled while relief flooded Fynta's system.

For the last two weeks, Fynta's inbox had been bursting with old Havoc war stories, each one punctuated by impressive Mando'a slurs. Though she didn't remember him, Fynta found Cormac's desperate attempts to jog her memory endearing, and pitied him the loss of his friend. She could easily see herself becoming enamored with the big guy, though she wasn't too keen on his recent undertaking as matchmaker

"I'll find someone to take my spot," Aric continued, tapping away on this datapad with a ferocity that managed to echo through the heavy air. He was mostly armored, but missing gloves and greaves. Fynta wondered if he'd been preparing for his post when he realized that someone had paired them together.

For reasons unknown, Fynta stood and put her hand over Jorgan's. It was the first time that she'd touched his skin, and the warmth of it startled her. Likewise, Aric stared at her fingers, his chest barely moving with each shallow breath. "Don't," Fynta said, forcing a smile. "Reports indicated that it's been quiet lately. What's the worst that could happen?"

Fynta expected Jorgan to argue, but when he simply nodded, she realized how badly he must want to be in her company. The man displayed in the military file would never have risked leaving the Exiles without a proper chain of command. A crack appeared in the protective layer around Fynta's heart, leaving her breathless.

Setting his datapad aside, Jorgan pulled free of her touch to open his footlocker. "I don't know if it'll work with your new armor," he began, voice muffled when he leaned further into the chest. When the Cathar emerged, he held a stylized buy'ce. He stood and offered it to her. "This used to be yours. I'm convinced it was your first love."

Fynta reached for one of the few links to her past life that she actually remembered. Running her fingers over the scarring across the surface, her eyes met Jorgan's. "You kept it?" He nodded, watching her caress the faded paint with pointed interest. Fynta smiled and slipped the helmet over her head, surprised to find it fully charged. The familiar HUD flickered to life the moment it connected with her armor, and Fynta sighed. "I've missed this thing."

"Think it'll work?" Aric asked, his voice wavering. With her face covered, Fynta could openly study the man she'd pledged her life to. The reverence he displayed over such a simple gift spoke volumes about how well he knew her.

After fiddling with the seals, Fynta nodded. "Only one way to find out."

Fynta and Aric had only been on patrol for an hour when she tore the helmet off with a curse. "Har'chaak," she spat, flipping it over again to see what the problem was. By all rights, the seal should be close enough to avoid the warnings that crowded her HUD. She squinted at the wiring hidden under a protective ledge, then craned her neck to see the connecting piece on her gorget. "This should work."

"Let me have a look." Aric held out his hand. He removed his own helmet, passing it to Fynta to keep while he poked around at the automatic clasp. She took the opportunity to peek inside, surprised when the musky scent it held warmed her. "Looks like the hook is bent," he cut an amused glare her way. "Again."

"What do you mean,  _again_?" Fynta reached for the object of her irritation, intrigued by the prospect of a story. But, when Jorgan's mouth clicked shut and his head snapped around, Fynta's survival instincts kicked in.

"Down," the Cathar snarled, bowling Fynta over. A second later, blinding light seared her eyes, and the concussion of a nearby grenade pushed them apart.

Blinking through the dust, Fynta met Aric's eyes. Blood dripped from one of his ears, but he ignored it in favor of returning fire. Fynta focused on the pain to ignite her fight instinct. Her weapon felt like weighted durasteel, making accurate targeting difficult while she scrambled for cover, but she refused to go down with a cold blaster

Aric snagged Fynta's collar when she stumbled and dragged her to the rock wall he'd sheltered behind. Her vision swam when the hard surface connected with her back, and Fynta took measured breaths to control her vertigo. She didn't think she had a concussion, but that grenade had jostled her wits

Jorgan squatted beside Fynta and snapped his fingers in front of her face. "You okay?" Fynta nodded, then was enveloped in darkness until her HUD lit. Somehow, Jorgan had saved her helmet, though he clearly didn't trust her to don the thing herself. When the Cathar reached behind him, a red line of mottled fur above his left eye caught Fynta's attention. She barely stopped herself from reaching for it, and was grateful when his face vanished behind a visor.

"Together?" Aric asked, his voice deepened by the filters in their helmets.

Swallowing another wave of nausea, Fynta took a deep breath. "Together."

Fynta had never been so in sync with another person during a fight. When she ducked right, Jorgan put himself at her back while she reloaded. He grunted when a bolt struck his shoulder, and Fynta threw herself between him and the threat before she processed the recklessness of her action. In the next moment, she was on the ground while Aric's weight pinned her as the rocks overhead exploded.

Fynta stared at his fingers, splayed through the dirt beside her shoulder.

Time stopped.

"Fierfek," Fynta groaned when Valkorion's feet appeared in front of her. "I'm a little busy right now, can we do this later?"

The dead emperor chuckled, then paced a slow circle around Fynta with his hands clasped in a regal fashion. " _He cares for you,"_  Valkorion mused, and Fynta had to bite her tongue to keep from showing how much his proximity to Jorgan infuriated her. A memory itched in the back of her mind. She'd been here before, she, Aric, and Valkorion. He'd made threats, but the exact nature of what occurred slipped through her grasp like water.

"Slana'pir," Fynta snarled, then time snapped back with the same disorienting effect as in the swamp by the Gravestone. Fynta wondered if it was her brain experiencing the whiplash of defying the natural laws of physics.

"We've got to get to cover, sir," Jorgan growled as he pushed off of Fynta. "We'll be overrun if we stay in this gorge."

Fynta clambered to her feet, then cast about for a direction of retreat. She spotted a crack in the rock wall less than half a klick away and thumped Jorgan's chest plate. "How's your free climbing skills, Major?"

The Cathar made a noise between a hiss and a groan, then ducked involuntarily when a bolt struck the tree beside his head. "It's got to be better than that one on Tatooine."

Fynta raised an eyebrow, but decided to ask about that once they'd reached safety. She broke into a jog and slung her rifle over her shoulder in time to jump. Catching the uneven rocks with her fingertips, Fynta pulled herself up and hoped that her idea didn't get them both killed. The top was only three meters above, but finding sturdy hand and foot holds while under fire was tricky.

A curse pulled Fynta's attention downward. She risked a glance to find Jorgan clinging to the wall as if a stiff wind could dislodge him. Forcing her attention forward again, Fynta slowed her progress to ensure that she gave Jorgan a view of the best possible holds. "Hang in there." The Cathar snorted at a pun Fynta hadn't intended. Had she not been so precariously perched herself, she might have laughed.

The sound of a hand cannon echoed from above, and Fynta halted their progress to ascertain the make and model of that particular cannon. She'd nearly convinced herself that there was a Skycaptain at the top when Balic Cormac peeked over the edge. "Need a lift?"

More blaster fire followed, and the massive man lowered himself to his stomach to reach for Fynta. "Come on, the boss hates stuff like this, let's get him back on solid ground."

Fynta grasped Cormac's hand and was surprised to find herself hefted onto the ledge with minimal grunting. She slapped his shoulder. "You have impeccable timing"

"We take care of our own. Good to see the old buy'ce again." Cormac leaned over and waved for Jorgan. "Hurry up, sir, we don't have all day,"

Jorgan growled a warning that Cormac must have heard before, because he guffawed as he gripped Aric's hand. Fynta leaned forward as well, grabbing Jorgan's belt to haul him over the top. The Cathar flopped onto his back, breathing heavily, and Fynta positioned herself over his head "You okay, soldier?" She gave his helmet a light rap with her knuckles.

Aric slapped her hand away, then his faceplate angled towards her. Still, he didn't answer. Fynta wondered what he saw when he looked at her now, and how similar her responses were to the woman he'd known. Sometimes, she wanted to be that woman again, but wasn't sure if it was worth selling her soul to Valkorion.

"Clear," Kanner called. She stood over the two Havoc commanders with a grin in her voice. "I'd offer you two some privacy, but we see where that got us."

Fynta sat back on her toes even as Jorgan rose to rub the dirt from the back of his helmet. "Ha ha. Just remember who signs your paychecks."

"Yessir." Kanner nodded towards Fynta, face impressively stern. "That'd be the commander now, right, sir?"

Jorgan snorted at Fynta's answering laugh, then got to his feet and offered Fynta a hand up. She stumbled forward, only to be righted by his hands around her waist. Clearing his throat, Jorgan addressed the rest of his squad. "Alright, you've had your fun, let's get back."

As Havoc Squad filed back into camp, Fynta made note of Aric's slower pace. She stopped to speak with one of the Exiles to buy herself time to process emotions that she didn't want, for a man she barely knew. At least, until she caught him limping. A strange protectiveness surged, and Fynta excused herself to check on him almost without thought.

When Fynta pushed inside, Jorgan had just settled onto the cot. "You holding up okay?" She shook her head, trying to dislodge some of the debris that had tangled in her hair. Still, she didn't miss the way he tensed at her question, and wondered how he could be equal parts at ease and uncomfortable in her presence. Then again, maybe she did understand, in her own way.

"Old wound acting up," the Cathar answered with a tired laugh. "You let Vik and Cormac blow us all to hell on Belsavis."

"I remember that," Fynta replied with too much enthusiasm judging by the way Aric's face came to life. She tried to cover the slip tactfully. "But, just Verin swearing in my ear, and Cinlat being pissy about losing her target." Strange how she'd never questioned where the blast had come from.

Jorgan nodded, a slow, solemn movement. "Cormac still recites the prayer of remembrance for her." He didn't have to specify whoherwas. Leaving over, Aric pulled an ice pack from a small cooler and unfastened the plate over his knee. "We all miss her. She was one of a kind."

"Yeah." Fynta lowered herself into the chair across from Jorgan, dumbfounded that he'd known her brother and Cinlat. Well enough that even Cormac felt honor bound to uphold their customs. It was a surreal moment of realization for Fynta. These people weren't trying to con her. Once upon a time, they'd been her family.

Reaching for the medkit, Fynta popped it open to dig through the supplies. She felt an overwhelming urge to do something for the Cathar, even if she couldn't offer much. "Let's get you cleaned up before I head off to annoy Arcann, shall we?" It was the least she could do after getting him blown up again.

**Darvannis  
Clan Cadera**

Verin trudged through the campsite after another arduous meeting on how best to get at the weapons cache that Darvannis supposedly held. He wasn't cut out for being one of Torian's al'verde. That had always been Cinlat's forte. Verin was the dumb grunt who punched things for a convincing amount of credits. Yet, Torian had seen fit to promote him. Verin wondered if it had been more of a favor for Keshal than for him.

The sun had long since vanished behind the dunes by the time Verin found his way home. Had he not been so tired, a stop by the mess tent would have made a tempting detour, but bed sounded like a better idea. The clans were hitting another small factory at dawn, and Cadera had been volunteered to take out the facility defenses.

Rebuilding the small, disgraced clan had been slow going. Even now, Torian claimed no more than fifty or so members, including the children too young to fight. Maybe one day, the chief would see fit to add a few of his own to their ranks. As it stood, that job fell to his subordinates.

Verin pushed the stiff door aside and stepped over the canvas ledge into his home. One of the benefits of being a commander was that he got first pick of locations within their territory. Verin's nestled against a broken down wall that was just tall enough to block the worst of the sun's heat, but not so foreboding as to aid an enemy sneaking up on them.

"Hey buir," Tranx called from where he sat with his legs crossed in front of a small holoprojector. The boy had completed his Verd'goten on the planet surface not two months ago, and while by their customs he was a man, Verin still saw the lanky seven year old that hid behind his mom's leg.

"Anything good on?" Verin called as he lifted the fabric that separated his room from the rest of the living space. Keshal stretched across the bed, hand draped over a swollen stomach, snoring lightly. Verin smiled at his wife, then backed out of the room to avoid disturbing her nap. The woman barely slept anymore, claiming it was in preparation for when the baby came.

The smell of food caught Verin's attention when he turned, and Tranx lifted a disposable plate. "Buir got it for you." The boy shook it without looking back. "She said you'd probably skip dinner again, and that if you didn't eat, she'd—" he trailed off, ears twitching with an unseen grin. "Well, you know how she is."

"That I do." Verin walked up behind his son and took the plate, offering a rough pat on his newly shaved head that Tranx quickly slapped away. "So, whatcha' watchin'?"

Verin shoveled the food into his mouth, barely tasting the heady spices. He leaned forward, squinting at the image and refusing to admit that his eyesight might finally be failing. "It's another announcement from Arcann. The Outlander did something on Zakuul that has him pissed. He's calling for an all out war on the Alliance."

"Wonder if Vizla will finally contact them. We could do a lot more damage if we joined forces." Verin took another bite and turned towards the ruffle of fabric behind him. Keshal stretched as she joined them, fingernails scratching beneath dark braids and eyes closed in a yawn. Verin couldn't help his grin when Keshal's shirt rose to display the curve of her stomach. That was his child, his flesh and blood, and the thought made him giddy every time.

"Oh, good. You found the food," Keshal remarked, swatting at Verin's backplate before turning a stern gaze on her son. "And you, stop staring at that holo and get yourself ready for tomorrow." Tranx waved at his mother without response. He'd be carrying extra supplies and ammunition with the other children of fighting age. Torian had secured Verin's loyalty when he announced his plans to ease the next generation into battle, rather than tossing them in head first like their parents had been.

Verin wrapped an arm around Keshal's waist to draw her closer when Tranx's spine stiffened, gaining both parents' attention. "He's about to show a wanted holo of the Outlander." Tranx sat forward, and Verin had to smack the boy's head to get him to move it out of the way. Tranx barely noticed. "This will be the first image of her out of Zakuul in months. I hope it's better than that blurry osik from the Asylum skirmish."

"Language," Keshal hissed, but Tranx didn't respond. Where his son displayed open reverence, Verin felt only apprehension. Being Mandalorian, Verin was always up for a decent war, but the idea his pregnant wife in a battle with a proper fleet made him nervous. Not that Verin would ever admit that to Keshal. She'd have his gett'se, then he wouldn't be able to father more children.

" _Any information regarding the Outlander will be rewarded,"_ Arcann's personal relations man stated in what could only be called a bored tone. " _Help us bring down the anarchist that threatens to destroy our peaceful galaxy."_

Verin smirked at Keshal's derisive snort, then turned his attention back to the holo when Tranx let out a cheer. "There she is!"

Verin's plate slipped from numb fingers. Tranx paused the broadcast so that he could examine the woman who had become such a pain to the Immortal Emperor. Keshal was the only one to notice Verin's reaction. "Riduur?" She shook his shoulder when he didn't answer. "Verin, what's wrong?"

"I—" Verin swallowed, still unsure if he believed his own eyes. "I need to speak with the alor." Those words snapped him out of a stupor. Verin took Keshal's shoulders in his hands, shock morphing into exhilaration. "She's alive." Of course, she was, as if the underworld could possible contain Fynta.

Before Verin could make it to the entrance of their tent, Keshal grabbed his pauldron and yanked him back. "What the shab has gotten into you?" Both brows rose in expectation when she pointed back at the image. "Who is that?"

Verin's smile grew. "It's my sister."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a**
> 
> Bu'cuy - helmet  
> Slana'pir - piss off (loosely translated)  
> al'verde - commander  
> buir - father or mother (used interchangeably)  
> riduur - husband or wife (used interchangeably)  
> alor - chief
> 
>  **Index:**  
> 
> The scene about the bent latches on Fynta's helmet can be found in Family Is More Than Blood - Chapter 6: Pest Eradication  
> The free climbing on Tatooine scene can be found in Family Is More Than Blood - Chapter 17: Flawed Strategy  
> The scene about Vik and Cormac blowing everyone up can be found inFamily Is More Than Blood - Chapter 26: Crosshairs


	20. Can't Regret You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorgan gets the call he's been dreading. Fynta eats some humble pie. The War Council rolls their eyes more at the idiocy of their commander, and Fynta finally reconnects with long, lost family.

**Zakuul**  
**Havoc Base  
** **Four Days Later - 0230 Hours**

Jorgan almost didn't hear the buzz of his comm over the howling winds outside. A storm had been threatening to overtake their portion of the swamp for days, making signal patchy at best. Jorgan slapped a hand against the device before managing to get his eyes completely open, hoping it would be Fynta. They'd parted on friendly terms, but that had been days ago. He hadn't heard a single word since, making him edgy in her absence. Aric talked himself out of contacting Fynta numerous times. She would call when she was ready.

Clearing his throat, Jorgan responded with a gruff greeting and found Theron Shan standing on the collapsible desk by his cot. "It's about damn time," the agent groused, glancing up from his datapad. "I've been trying to reach you for an hour."

The tone of Shan's voice instantly revived Jorgan's muddled senses. There weren't many reasons that Theron would contact him personally, and none of those were good. "What's wrong?" Jorgan sat up and checked the chrono to see what time it was on Odessen. Early evening, so she wouldn't be asleep yet. "Is Fynta okay?"

"No," Theron snapped. "She's wounded and refusing treatment."

Ice settled in Jorgan's veins. He couldn't bear the thought of burying his wife a second time, even if she still wasn't convinced of their matrimony. It would be better to follow her to the grave than live through that again. "How bad?"

"I don't know," Theron answered. "She's blocked all of my overrides and refuses to let anyone near her. The damn woman disabled it from the inside. We need you back at base to talk some sense into her." Jorgan snorted before he could stop himself.

Theron sighed. "Yeah, I know I'm asking the impossible, but we've tried everything else. Just get your ass here, Major."

The signal cut out without a farewell, leaving Jorgan staring into the darkness. Anxiety outweighed the annoyance of being ordered around by his wife's ex-lover. Every scenario from Fynta's failed date with Balkar on Tepasi, to her losing her leg on Corellia, went through Jorgan's mind. He'd been a part of the Alliance for less than a month, and Fynta had already wounded herself. He wondered what she'd been through in his absence. Jorgan had little doubt that his wife was well acquainted with the Odessen medbay.

Jorgan met Kanner and Cormac on patrol outside the shuttle that had Fynta left it in case of emergencies. Aric explained the situation in as little detail as possible, gave Kanner command of their camp, and began pre-flight checks. Neither soldier held him up with questions, but Jorgan expected a call from Cormac once he was underway. He'd nearly broken atmo when it came.

"Don't let her die on us," Cormac blurted as soon as the call connected. The big man paced out of range, then back in. "I still haven't told her about my son."

"I have no intention to," Aric answered, panic tightening his throat until his breathing felt labored. He steadied his tone to offer the support of a commanding officer. "I'm not sure how bad things are. Get Torg on boosting comm signal, and I'll contact you when I can."

Balic saluted before leaning closer. "We're on it. Just take care of Fynta. Cormac out." The call ended, and Jorgan settled in for a miserable twenty-four hour flight.

By the time Odessen came into view, Jorgan's body vibrated with nervous energy. Theron met him at the bottom of the ramp and started walking as soon as Aric's feet touched the ground. "Fynta went off mission on Zakuul. She wouldn't tell us where, only that it had to be done."

Theron tapped away on the datapad, leaving Jorgan to wonder if the man ever put it down. "Koth said she slipped away while he and Hirani were brokering a deal with one of her smuggler friends." He paused to cut his eyes at Jorgan. "I think she's been fighting in the pits of the Old World, but I can't prove it."

Jorgan scowled at the agent. He hadn't been aware that such places existed in the sophisticated Zakuulan society. Though it came as no surprise that Fynta had found her way into its heart. Despite his wife's constant reassurance otherwise, she was a good woman. Thanks to Cinlat, slaves and those forced into fighting pits always had a leading place in Fynta's crusades.

"How did Fynta outsmart your overrides?" Aric knew that his wife had experience in slicing, but found it hard to believe that she could stump the SIS agent, despite their familiarity.

Theron grumbled under his breath before answering. "She installed countermeasures after I interrupted-" the agent cut off, cast a glance in Jorgan's direction, then cleared his throat. "There was an incident. She's the only one who can access it externally."

"I saw the device," Aric mused. He'd intended to ask Fynta about it, but somehow the subject never came up.

"We're hoping that Fynta added you to the list," Theron nodded. "Turn here."

Theron and Jorgan had nearly made it to Fynta's room by the time the spy finished debriefing him on the circumstances leading to her current condition. "If you can't get that door open, Lana and Senya are going to rip it out of the wall." Jorgan could already hear the Sith's lecture. It had been his idea to put Fynta back in the field, after all. No doubt Lana held Aric responsible for this latest mess.

Theron rolled his eyes. "The only reason that they've failed to do so already is that Vector is blocking their path. He believes you are the answer."

"Vector, he's your—"

"An esteemed member of the War Council," Theron cut in, leaving Jorgan with the impression that the spy wasn't pleased Fynta had shared that bit of his personal life. There was a sick sort of irony in the turn of events, and Jorgan hoped that the other man now understood his reaction on Rishi. Private matters should remain private.

Theron walked past Lana and Senya and stopped in front of a stranger. The tall man leaned against the wall, dark eyes taking in every facet of his surroundings. "Aric Jorgan, meet Vector Hyllus." There was no denying the softening in the agent's tone. "Fynta trusts him, hell, everyone trusts him, but not even he can get through to her."

Vector extended a hand. Aric had heard his name mentioned often, but the Killik Joiner traveled regularly to complete his duties, so they'd never met. "We are confident that you can reach her, Major," Vector concluded in melodic tones, offering a gentle squeeze to punctuate his sincerity. "Fynta's mind is clouded, but her aura is calmer since your arrival."

Jorgan didn't understand the words, but he appreciated them. Something in Fynta still recognized Aric, even if  _she_ didn't. Dipping his head, Jorgan cast a furtive look at Lana. The Sith glared from not far away while Senya meditated on the floor beside her. "I hope you're right," the Cathar mumbled.

"Alright," Theron breathed, motioning to the keypad. "The moment of truth, hopefully, she didn't consider you when dismantling the door." Fynta had given Aric access to the room during his last visit, claiming that he should be able to get to his belongings without an escort. At the time, her explanation had annoyed him.

Jorgan placed his hand on the biometric lock, half expecting to find his credentials revoked as well. A collective sigh of relief sounded behind him when the door slid open. "Oh, thank the Force," Lana breathed, starting forward.

Aric held up a hand. "Let me go in first." Knowing Fynta, she'd likely shoot the anything that violated her sanctuary, especially if she was wounded. Approaching his wife in such a state had always been a risk; the Mandalorian in her viewed injury as a personal insult. "I'll call if I need backup."

Lana looked less than pleased, but no one argued. Jorgan waited until Vector herded the council away, then stepped into the cool, dark interior. The door slid shut, and he listened. Fear stabbed through Aric when only the hum of appliances greeted him. "Fynta?"

A groan issued from the top of the stairs, the direction of Fynta's bed. Jorgan hurried through the darkness, took the steps two at a time, then stopped when the fetid smell of decay hit him. He fought back a gag as he knelt beside the bed, confirming Theron's worst fears.

Jorgan pulled the layers of blankets away from Fynta's sweat-slicked face, then cursed when the smell of rot intensified. "Damn it, Fynta," he whispered through clenched teeth.

Ignoring his wife's feeble protests, Jorgan dumped the blankets onto the floor to reveal a long t-shirt and pair of regulation shorts. A thin sheen of moisture coated Fynta's body. She made a weak grab for the sheet while Jorgan turned on the lamp to get a better look. Fynta hissed and rolled away from him, revealing a deep bruise on her back when the shirt rode up.

Jorgan placed a steadying hand on Fynta's hip, then pulled the garment higher. He cursed again. A puncture wound sat dangerously close to her kidney, the skin around it inflamed with mottled patterns of red and dark green. When Jorgan pressed his knuckles against the flesh, a mixture of pus and blood seeped from within.

Fynta whimpered and tried to pull away, but Aric held her fast. He ran through his options, then commed Theron. Jorgan set the device on the bed and continued examining while Fynta mumbled protests. Theron answered on the third ring. "How bad?"

"She needs a medic; this wound is infected." Aric pulled the shirt higher, pausing at a pink scar that he didn't recognize. He brushed his fingers over the perfectly round discoloration. A few inches in diameter with not tearing around the edges; only one weapon could have caused that mark. Lana's words about their last encounter with Arcann rang in Jorgan's mind. Ignoring Theron, he slid his free hand to the front of Fynta's ribs and found a matching wound. Aric's mouth went dry.

"Jorgan, did you hear me?" Theron repeated, breaking through Aric's scattered thoughts. "We're short on medics since Vaylin's attack on the other worlds. Our allies are trying to clean up her mess, so we'll have to muddle through with what we have."

Jorgan swallowed, forcing himself to ignore the fact that his wife had been run through by a lightsaber and no one deemed it fit to tell him. "Let me make some calls." He hung up without waiting for Theron's response. Aric hesitated before dialing the first frequency that had come to mind. Making this call might cause more harm than good, but one look at Fynta decided the matter for him. Jorgan would risk anything to keep from losing her again.

Taking a deep breath, Jorgan keyed in the code and waited. An eternity later, the former Havoc medic appeared in his palm. "Aric? This is highly irregular. Is everything alright?"

Jorgan turned the holo to give Elara a better view of her old friend. "I need your help."

**Odessen**  
_**The Thunderclap  
** _ **1900 Hours**

Fynta felt like osik. Rather, she couldn't conjure a word that fit the agony of regaining consciousness, so osik had to do. She remembered her last battle and the blow that got past her defenses. It hadn't seemed so bad at the time. Fynta had brushed off Bowdaar's offer medical aid, but by the time she'd crept back onto the base, exhaustion and pain had sent her whimpering to bed.

After double checking that all the codes were recycled, and Theron wouldn't be able to break in to scold her about reckless endeavors, Fynta let the darkness take her. When she woke, it had been clear that things had gone wrong, but she had just wanted to be left alone. Fynta remembered wishing for death, then being certain that it would be granted. Now she was….Where the hell was she?

Cool, pleasant liquid surrounded Fynta's sore muscles. Instead of scratchy sheets, she felt nothing. Her body hung weightless, breath came smoothly, and a deep hum resonated all the way to her battered soul. As far as deaths went, this one was a lot better than the last.

The sludge of Fynta's thoughts cleared with annoying slowness. When she pried her eyes open, a blue tinged the world distorted her vision. Movement pulled Fynta's attention to a form by the counter of what she realized was a medbay. Male, if his shape was anything to go by, wearing standard clothes rather than scrubs. After a few blinks, the image solidified into Aric Jorgan. The Cathar's presence triggered an erratic pulse through her chest. The increase must have registered on the equipment, because Jorgan's head tilted, then turned towards Fynta.

Jorgan's movements were unnatural through Fynta's blurry vision until his palm pressed against a transparent barrier. "It's about time you woke up." The words were oddly clear. Fynta realized that she wore an oxygen helmet. Glancing around, Fynta recognized the kolto tank aboard the  _Thunderclap_. Her body floated in a specialized medicine, and she wondered how she'd gotten there. Unless Lana had ripped the door off, she should still be in her room. Shab, Fynta really hoped that Lana hadn't ripped the door off.

Willing her muscles into motion, Fynta placed her hand against Aric's to signal that she was fully conscious. "Ready to come out?" The Cathar asked, his voice deepened by the speakers. Fynta nodded. Her throat was too dry to speak. She focused on Jorgan's bright, blue eyes as the fluid began to drain.

Suddenly deprived of support, Fynta's body sagged against the glass. Her legs buckled, and Aric barely caught her before she toppled to the floor. "Easy," he breathed, the warmth raising chills along her skin. "You're still weak, but the infection is gone."

"Infection?" Fynta rasped as Jorgan lifted her. She couldn't remember ever being carried anywhere, and she wasn't exactly a light woman, but that didn't seem to hinder the Cathar.

Setting Fynta on the prepared medtable, Aric grabbed a scanner. His scowl deepened. "Your stubbornness nearly got you killed," he grumbled, adding a barely audible  _again_  before continuing. "If they'd waited another few hours to find me, things could have been a lot worse."

Aric sighed and set the device aside, avoiding her gaze. "Looks like you're out of the woods for now."

A wave of guilt swept over Fynta. She grabbed Aric's wrist when he turned away. "Sorry." She couldn't explain what she was apologizing for, or even why it mattered that her stupidity upset this man so much, but, it did.

Jorgan nodded, understanding in a way that Fynta couldn't comprehend yet, and retrieved a towel. He wrapped it around her shoulders, then looked into the main ship. "I've made up the captain's quarters for you. Figured the only way that I could keep an eye on you was to limit your mobility."

Fynta grinned. "You know she flies now, right?" Tora had recently finished repairs on the old military ship. Theoretically, Fynta could still escape.

A low chuckle answered Fynta's attempt at lightening the mood. "But, I can catch you in here. Hyperspace or not."

Fynta laughed, winced, then settled for a comfortable snicker. "Thanks for all of this. Sorry to pull you away from Zakuul." She cleared her throat before Aric could respond. Fynta knew he would only repeat himself, that he'd always come for her. It was strange to inspire that kind of loyalty from someone, especially a Cathar. "What happened?"

"I was hoping that you could tell me." Jorgan leaned around Fynta to press against her back. She hissed and arched away from the touch. "It's not as red," he continued without acknowledging her discomfort. "Might even be able to bandage it later."

Fynta twisted to see what Jorgan was talking about, then gave up when another sharp pain cut through her middle. "I zigged when I should have zagged."

Jorgan snorted the most impressive sound of derision that Fynta had ever heard. "I'm more interested in where it came from."

Sighing, Fynta recounted her meeting with the Wookiee on Zakuul. Bowdaar had asked for Hirani to run supplies, but when he mentioned that people were being forced to fight in the pits below as entertainment, Fynta had snuck back to add her name to the lists. For every match won, she grew closer to buying a slave's freedom. After what Cinlat had gone through on Hutta, Fynta couldn't turn her back on the victims.

Aric remained silent for several heartbeats after Fynta finished her tale. She nearly jumped when he spoke. "And you refused medical treatment to avoid Theron's bitching?"

Fynta cut her eyes to the side. "Well, when you put it that way…."

Sighing, Jorgan patted Fynta's hand. "Next time, just go to the medcenter."

Desperate to put the attention on something other that her spectacular failure, Fynta nodded towards the comm on the counter. "Who called you?"

"Shan," Jorgan answered with a smirk. "If I couldn't get through the door, he was going to let Lana and Senya break in." Fynta winced. At least she hadn't been wrong about that. Jorgan harrumphed in agreement. "My biometrics still worked, so I sent everyone away and brought you here. You'll want to restock your kolto supply, I put a hefty dent in it."

"Fierfek," Fynta spat. That medication should have been saved for wounded soldiers. Not reckless, pouting commanding officers.

"Nothing to be done about it now," Aric responded, winding his arm beneath hers. "You need to rest, think you can walk?" Fynta nodded, and together they hobbled towards her old quarters. She leaned heavily on Jorgan, finding his inhuman warmth comforting.

Aric settled Fynta into bed, then straightened with a pleasant, half smile. "I'll get you some food, I know you're starving." Fynta's stomach growled in response, though she folded her arms over her middle in an attempt to quiet it. Shaking his head, Jorgan headed for the door. "I've got to check in with my squad, call if you need anything."

As Fynta lay in the cool darkness of her cabin, Aric's scent clinging to her damp skin, she let her thoughts wander. She kept coming back to the same conclusion: she could get used to having a man like him around.

**Odessen**  
**War Room  
** **Emergency Council Meeting**

Theron had surrendered to fidgeting nearly an hour earlier. When it became distracting, Vector would slide a hand over Theron's knee, and the spy did his best to settle. But, he never stopped completely. His nerves were fried. Fynta  _still_ hadn't forgiven him for sneaking Havoc Squad back into her life, and Aric  _still_ growled about being kept in the dark for so long. Now, the commander was injured, and Theron may have put himself in the middle of another domestic dispute. Not to mention the glare that Lana shot him for making her wait until Jorgan arrived to open the door. If Fynta died, it was all on him, and Aric refused to answer his kriffing comm.

"With Fynta out of commission, we need to discuss options for this latest development," Lana continued, bringing Theron back to the conversation. Fynta couldn't have chosen a worse time to take herself out of the game now that the Alliance had established communication with Mandalorians.

"The real question," Notiac began, "is how much to reveal to our potential allies. It would hardly do for our commanding officer, one of their own, to appear weak upon first contact."

Theron bristled on Fynta's behalf even though she'd gotten herself into this mess. He should leave her to swing for it. When Theron took a breath to answer, Vector squeezed his knee. It was enough to quell Theron's anger. "Our contact is her brother," the spy answered, instead of saying what had initially come to mind. "If anyone understands the pig-headedness of our current leader, it's Verin Ejnar."

"Relationships notwithstanding," Zolah chimed from Theron's other side. She seemed less interested in saving face than Vector. It was that cold, calculating mind that had drawn him to the Chiss agent in the first place. "Verin has an impressive track record. He and Cinlat were known for taking their targets alive, and there aren't any reports that suggest him to be as volatile as Fynta."

"So what you're saying," Koth interjected, leaning forward to press his elbows into the table. "Is that he'll be easier to control?"

Zolah chuckled. "Hardly. Only that, as the man who raised her, Fynta might listen to his advice. In turn, Verin may be more inclined to listen to ours." Koth raised his hands in defeat and pushed away from the table to spin his chair in a circle. Both native Zakuulans appreciated Fynta's efforts to clean up the Old World, and none had been more vocally supportive than Koth.

"Then, we continue negotiations?" Lana asked, tapping out the minutes on her datapad and ignoring the nearly constant bickering that accompanied a council meeting. "We'll see what the new Mand'alor wants in return for our services, then postpone the meeting until Fynta is mended. Yes?"

A chorus of acceptance traveled around the table. Theron had just allowed himself a sigh of relief when Koth spoke again. "Adding an army of Mandalorians to the Alliance is going to increase our standing on Arcann's Pain-in-the-ass-o-meter."

Zolah chuckled, but Theron caught Lana's expression. The Sith pursed her lips, eyes narrowed at the device in her hands. "The hard part will be assuring that they don't run amok," she added, looking up to catch Theron's eye. "An entire army of Fynta's."

**Odessen**  
_**The Thunderclap  
** _ **0500 Hours**

Fynta opened her eyes with a gasp. Something heavy sat on her stomach, pinning her hands to the mattress beneath. Her heart raced, making coherent thought difficult. She struggled against the restraints, kicking wildly in an effort to upend her attacker. He snarled, a guttural sound that chilled the blood.

"Fynta, easy," the man growled when her knee connected with his ribs. "It's a dream, damn it, wake up."

The familiar voice stilled Fynta's movements. The pressure on her wrists eased, as did the weight on her stomach. Inhaling a painful breath, Fynta groaned. "Fierfek." Resting her hands on the thighs that straddled her middle, she blinked. "Jorgan?"

The Cathar heaved a relieved sigh and sat back. Fynta squinted at him in the gloom, then reached for a dark smudge on his lip. "Are you bleeding?" Aric caught her wrist, the motion drawing her attention to that fact that he was shirtless. Had he not been holding her at bay, Fynta would have run her fingers through the fur that covered his torso. Curiosity had always been her greatest downfall, and her wits were hardly reliable at the moment.

Jorgan tipped to the side to let Fynta roll over, pain banishing any thoughts of physical contact. "What happened?" The sheets clung to her still oozing wound, and she nearly gagged.

"Nightmare," Aric answered, watching Fynta warily. "Normally, I wouldn't have interfered, except you called my name." He paused to lean over the edge of the bed, returning with her Verpine. "And, you were waving this around."

The weapon plopped onto the blanket by Fynta's knees. "I built that; I know what kind of damage it can do."

Fynta stared at the blaster, then her husband. "You brought my Verpine to the ship?"

The Cathar shrugged. "You always slept better knowing it was there." Fynta opened and closed her mouth a few times before deciding that she had no response. Aric continued as if he didn't notice. "When did these nightmares start?" He leaned back to sit opposite her on the bed.

Fynta shrugged. "Right after they thawed me out, I think." Jorgan gave her a speculative look. "Before you ask, I never remember them. I don't know what I'm shooting at."

"So, you've discharged your weapon indoors before?" Fynta nodded, unable to meet Aric's eyes while he checked the charge pack like she was some rookie. Not that she blamed him. Then, he huffed an ironic laugh. "You've always gone for the blaster first. I'm glad to see that you still unload it before bed."

Jorgan's comment piqued Fynta's interest. "So, this isn't new?" She'd worried that maybe Valkorion was trying to gain control while she slept. If what Aric said was true, then it was simply her screwed up mind putting people in danger, not the undead emperor.

Setting the Verpine on the bedside table, Aric nodded. "It didn't get bad until after Revan. Then Ziost made it an almost nightly occurrence." He brushed a lock of hair from Fynta's face, brows furrowed while he studied her.

Fynta focused on the muscle in Jorgan's jaw. Clearly, the Cathar had something to say, but he couldn't figure out how to get it out. Finally, impatience got the better of her. "Out with it, Soldier."

Jorgan's brows shot up, and he surprised Fynta was a laugh. "You know, you really aren't much different." When she raised an eyebrow, Jorgan sighed. His hand hovered over her knee, then fell back to the mattress. "There's a Sith here who can dredge up memories, right?"

Any sense of comfort that Jorgan provided fled with his words. "Theron already tried that," Fynta protested. "Darth Kozen can't get past the mental block."  _I swore I'd never go through that again._

"Stay with me on this one." The Cathar got to his feet and began pacing. "You can't remember your dreams, maybe there's a reason." He stopped to look Fynta in the eye, hope shining through. "If this Sith can see your dreams as they happen, maybe we can figure out what the bastard did to you."

"I-" Fynta paused to look at Jorgan through narrowed eyes. "Maybe." She hadn't considered that before. No one outside of Lana and Notiac knew of her nightmares. Jorgan's plan could work, but the thought of letting Kozen pry into her mind again knotted Fytna's stomach.

Jorgan crossed the room, but stopped short of touching Fynta. His eyes glowed in the light from the computer terminal, a pale blue that drew her in. "If we can get your memories back, it'll be one less thing Valkorion can hold over you."

Fynta should have kept her mouth closed, because her response didn't come out at all like she'd intended. "And you could have your wife back."

Jorgan's face fell. "That's not—" he sighed and let a hesitant hand rest on her shoulder. "I already have my wife back.." Jorgan forced a smile, it looked feral with all of those sharp teeth showing, but Fynta felt comforted nonetheless.

The Cathar knelt by the bed, letting his hand slide down Fynta's arm to grasp her fingers. "I know that having Havoc here isn't easy for you." He offered a light squeeze. "If I had that sort of power over someone, I'd use it to keep them in check. What do you say about removing that card from the table?"

Fynta hadn't experienced hope in a long time, but something in Aric's voice made her want to try. The worst that could happen was that Valkorion would destroy her mind. At least then, she wouldn't have to go to any more damn logistics meetings.

Fynta's comm rang in the other room, and Jorgan pushed to his feet with a sigh. "You stay there," he said, pointing at Fynta. "I need to check your wound to make sure we didn't cause more damage in that scuffle." He left the fact that she hadn't answered unsaid.

Aric turned, and Fynta saw him clearly for the first time since waking. He wore only a pair of pants, his back knotted with muscles the shifted beneath fur when he moved. The overall effect was...alluring. She huffed in annoyance when he vanished from view, but his voice echoed from the main room. "Commander Wolfe is unavail—"

"Fierfek, Aric?" Fynta's heart stuttered when she heard the man on the other end. "It's good to see you again, vod." She fought with the blankets, cursing until Jorgan's bare feet sounded outside the door.

"It's been a while," Jorgan answered, casting Fynta a warning glare when he rounded the door frame. "I'm guessing you didn't call for me."

It took everything Fynta had not to reach for her brother. "Is she really alive, Aric?"

Jorgan met Fynta's eyes over Verin's projection. "Yes, and as stubborn as ever. Hold on."

Fynta held out shaking fingers to receive the only family she remembered. "Verin?" Her voice broke. Jorgan sat on the edge of her bed. He hesitated a moment before laying a comforting hand on her leg. To Fynta's surprise, she didn't flinch away. Something in the way Verin greeted Aric solidified everything that he'd told her. Until then, there were only vague emotions and the words of spies. But, Verin was  _family_ , and he'd called Aric brother.

"Su cuy'gar, vod'ika," Verin answered with a cheesy grin. "I knew there wasn't a power in this universe that could kill you."

"Not for lack of trying," Jorgan muttered as he leaned around to examine Fynta's back. She ignored him.

Fynta brushed her fingers over the grey streaks that mottled her brother's hair, barely conscious of Jorgan's prodding. "You've gotten old, ori'vod." Six years since she'd seen her brother, she'd almost given up hope that he was still alive. "It's really good to see you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Index:**  
> 
> The Date with Balkar - Family Is More Thank Blood: Chapter 11: Plausible Deniability
> 
> Losing her leg on Corellia - Family Is More Than Blood: Chapter 32: End of a Legacy
> 
> Jorgan punching Theron on Rishi - Family Is More Than Blood - Chapter 48: Mutually Compromised


	21. Stolen Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elara Dorne faces new trials within the Republic, being forced to make a choice with unpleasant outcomes regardless of which course of action she takes. Jorgan faces the uncomfortable emotions Fynta stirs in him while attempting to keep her locked down so that she can heal. Koth gets stuck as the middleman and offers some not terrible relationship advice. Fynta finally decides to take the plunge to relearn who her husband is, and she's not disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title came from the song _Don't Fight It_ by 10 Years, More specifically, the line "Buried in the past. So many moments I want back."

**Coruscant**  
**Army of the Galactic  
** **Republic Headquarters**

Elara waited the appropriate amount of time before responding to Commander Malcom's summons. In the wake of Balic's desertion, she existed in a constant state of uncertainty and calculation. With her husband declared a traitor, the Republic's scrutinizing gaze swept back to Elara. If she answered a call too quickly from her commanding officer, she looked over eager to prove her innocence. Answer too slow, and she could be accused of stalling to fabricate a lie. Elara knew that Malcom had kept her in his office as a means to locate their wayward soldiers, so it was crucial for her to behave as normal as possible.

Rapping lightly on the open door frame that led into Malcom's office, Elara stood at attention until recognized. "Come in, Dorne."

Elara obliged, settling on the edge of a chair opposite of the commander's desk. The man made a show of finishing up the paperwork in front of him before looking up. "I'm not going to stand on precedence here," he began, much the same as he did every week. "We both know why I called you in." Malcom affected a tired facade to play on her need for acceptance. Though, Elara had discovered long ago that she could operate without it. "When was the last time you saw your husband?"

"Two months ago," Elara answered without hesitation. She refused to add more, keeping her answers as concise as possible. While she lacked Fynta's skill for skirting the truth, Balic's ability to lie outright, and Jorgan's intimidating glower, Elara had a keen understanding of how these games were played.

Malcom leaned back in his chair, folding large hands over his stomach. "Two months without contact is a long time." Elara remained silent, schooling her features to represent her cold, Imperial upbringing. Finally, the commander sighed. "I like you, Dorne. You're an amazing soldier with skills that have benefited the Republic. I hate to see you played like this."

Elara's brow twitched; this was a new tactic. Normally, Malcom apologized that she'd been saddled with a traitor for a husband, and assured her that Balic would receive a fair trial if she would pass along any information that led to his capture.

Malcom continued. "I've been looking into Sergeant Cormac's past, and I know his type. Girl in every spaceport." The commander held up a hand as if to forestall an argument that Elara had no intention of making. "Now, I'm sure he was faithful while you worked together. Personally, the man would be a fool to give up a woman like you." Malcom leaned forward with a grave expression. "But, he's not coming back. That man left you and your boy to chase another woman across the galaxy. You need to begin thinking about what the future holds for you and Tayl."

Elara's heart rate quickened at the mention of her son. That was another angle that Malcom had yet to approach from, and she wondered what intelligence the Republic had received to make him so brash. Settling her tone, Elara tipped her head. "Perhaps, sir, we should consider following Havoc Squad's example. Latest reports show that Zakuul is more unstable now than it has ever been. Perhaps if we—"

Malcom gave a snort of disgust and slid his datapad across the desk. " _That_ , is what Zakuulan destabilization looks like, Captain."

Five planet names littered the screen. Each file led to a casualty report with numbers so astronomical that Elara could scarcely believe their accuracy. "These planets were attacked in retaliation of the Alliance's latest  _victory_." Malcom sneered the last word, then smacked a hand on his desk to draw Elara's attention.

"Get me in touch with your husband," Malcom demanded, his tone no longer friendly. "If he helps us bring this woman, this  _anarchist_ , down, I'll personally guarantee him a full pardon."

"I'll give you a week to consider the offer." Taking a deep breath, Malcom leaned back in his chair and glanced away from Elara as if she were no longer worth his notice. "Dismissed."

**Odessen**  
_**The Thunderclap  
** _ **54 Hours Later**

Jorgan groaned and nearly rolled off the couch. The two seater wasn't long enough to accommodate all of him, leaving him with sore muscles come morning. Pushing up, Aric rubbed a hand down his face to clear away the fog of sleep. Noise pulled his attention towards the small kitchen through the conference room. As he traversed the familiar layout, Jorgan couldn't help but remember the times that Havoc Squad had gathered there.

Aric rounded the corner in time for Fynta to straighten from a small cooler, and he paused to admire her curves. The halter she wore not only displayed her injured middle, but the muscular back and defined arms of a warrior. While unpleasant to look at, Fynta's latest wound certainly wasn't the worst Jorgan had seen on her.

Letting his gaze scan higher, Aric noticed that Fynta hadn't bothered to tie her hair back. It was shorter, the blonde strands hanging just above—Jorgan cursed and pushed away from the doorframe. He was already behind Fynta before she could react, hands on her hips to keep her from turning.

"What the—" Fynta tried to twist free, then hissed when it pulled at her wound.

Aric ignored his wife's protests and tightened his grip. "Be still." To his surprise, Fynta obeyed with a curious glance over her shoulder.

When Jorgan was convinced that Fynta wouldn't strike out, he moved his hands away to brush her hair back with a snarl. "Arcann." Her earlier words about finding a new hairdresser finally made sense.

Fynta pulled away and tugged at her hair until it draped over her shoulders like armor. "Yeah," she confirmed, staring at the floor. "Arcann."

Aric's fingers squeezed into fists. He had to force a deep breath to avoid the growl building in the back of his throat. Jorgan wanted to demand an answer for why he hadn't been told, why Fynta still hid things. But, it had never been her way to share. Her scars were a private matter, even from him.

Leaning back against the counter, Jorgan sighed. "How are you feeling?"

Fynta shrugged. Her wince might have gone unnoticed by anyone other than Aric. Fynta's shoulders sagged when his brows rose in silent challenge. "Osik."

"I won't tell you to get back in bed," Jorgan began, then smirked when Fynta mirrored his stance with narrowed eyes. "Wouldn't listen to me anyway. But, I don't want you leaving this ship until you're more stable."

"I don't need a sitter, Aric, and—"

Jorgan cut Fynta off. "Do you really want the Alliance to see you stumbling around like this?" He waved a hand at the still seeping wound on her back. "I've managed to keep this out of the public eye for now, but it won't work without your cooperation."

Fynta opened her mouth to argue, then her brows pulled together. "But, I woke up in a tank. In the medbay."

Aric crossed his arms, offering a satisfied curl of his lips. "I had Lana pull some strings to make sure no one bothered us."

"Us?" A playful smile tugged at the corner of Fynta's mouth, the familiarity of it bittersweet. "So, they left you alone with my unconscious body?"

Jorgan had heard that line before, but it didn't unnerve him the way it had then. He took a step closer and leaned forward until Fynta was pinned, his hands splayed on the counter to either side of her waist. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Fierfek," Fynta breathed. Jorgan didn't have time to register the way her eyes darkened before a hand twisted in his shirt to haul him flush to her body. Fynta growled against Aric's lips when his weight pressed her wound into the hard surface, but didn't relax her hold when he tried to pull away.

Shock morphed into desire, overwhelming Aric's senses. He groaned, deepening their kiss and encircling her in a firm embrace. The sheer bliss of having his wife in his arms again made Jorgan's heart pound so loud that he couldn't hear anything else, certainly not common sense whispering in the background. Until Fynta's tongue brushed his teeth.

That small act, as innocent as it was, brought Jorgan out of his stupor. He pulled back to search Fynta's face for any proof that she understood the depth of their connection. Her eyes drifted open lazily, and Fynta sighed. "Damn, Jorgan."

Aric's chest tightened with the knowledge that  _this_ Fynta still wasn't his wife. He'd simply triggered her lustful nature. To avoid making the situation awkward for both of them, Jorgan tried to a lighthearted joke. "Good thing there wasn't a weapons rack around, huh?"

A bright smile split Fynta's face. "Now,  _that_ sounds like an interesting story."

Jorgan sighed and stepped away, feeling cold without the heat of Fynta's body. "I'll tell you some time." He needed to put space between them to straighten out his thoughts. "How about I fix some 'caf?"

Fynta moaned so provocatively that Aric's body responded of its own accord. He nearly drew her back into his arms. "You bring me 'caf," Fynta continued, unaware of the effect she had on him. "And, I'll give you whatever position you want." It took Jorgan longer than it should have to realize Fynta meant within the Alliance. His thoughts had strayed into dangerous territory. Not for the first time, Aric was glad that Cathar couldn't blush.

Clearing his throat, Jorgan adopted a casualness that he didn't feel. "Go back to bed. I'll bring it to you."

Fynta yawned and blinked a few times. "Yeah, I'm beat." Aric kept his eyes off the swing of her hips as she passed, determined to get his mind and body back under control before venturing into a room that held so many vivid memories.

By the time the 'caf was finished, Jorgan felt confident enough to enter their old bedroom. Fynta had propped herself at an angle with a datapad resting on her knees. "I know you're not working," Aric teased, holding the mug towards his wife.

"I could be," Fynta responded. She almost managed to say it with a straight face. When Aric arched an unconvinced brow, Fynta gave up and took the caf. "Actually, I've been reading back over some of these messages from Cormac. It sounds like we had a great thing going."

Aric lowered himself into a chair next to the bed. "We did. Havoc Squad was a family, even Vik participated." A strange furrow appeared in Fynta's forehead as she looked into her mug. Jorgan wasn't sure if it had to do with the caf, or the Weequay.

"I sent Lana a message about Kozen," Fynta admitted in a small voice, still staring into her cup. "He and Kaeto are off planet dealing with the Star Fortress above Nar Shaddaa, so we'll have to wait on the dream haunting for a bit." Fynta huffed and leaned back. "They took  _my_  squad."

"Follow the doctor's orders, and you'll join them soon." Not that Jorgan wanted his wife back on the battlefield so quickly, but it made for a decent bargaining chip. "After we get your dreams sorted."

Jorgan appreciated that Fynta had made the call. He knew that couldn't have been an easy thing to do; to voluntarily let another Sith into her mind. The fact that Fynta was willing to go through that for Jorgan meant that his wife was still in there, somewhere. There was still hope.

When Fynta looked up, Jorgan saw a familiar determination in her eyes. "I won't do this alone," she declared. "It was your idea, so  _you_  are responsible for whatever damage I do while Kozen scrambles my brain."

Aric chuckled, then sipped his caf to cover it. He didn't doubt Fynta's seriousness for a moment. In all the galaxy, only his stubborn wife could possibly pose a threat to an adversary ten times stronger while she slept. When Jorgan lowered the mug, it was to offer an encouraging nod. "I'll be here."

**Odessen**  
_**The Thunderclap  
** _ **Next Morning**

Koth wandered around the Thunderclap, appreciating the elegance and simplicity of the military vessel. Last time he'd been aboard, Tora had the entire thing gutted, and Koth couldn't walk more than a couple of meters without the threat of electrocution. Now that it was put back together, she was quite a ship.

"Aric?"

Koth turned back toward the main room to find Fynta standing in the middle. He cringed at the size of the bandage that covered her back, and was glad he wouldn't have to change it. Blood was  _not_ his thing. "Jorgan had to go back to Zakuul," Koth answered, holding his hands up when Fynta rounded on him. He offered a grin. "I'm on babysitting duty."

"What happened on Zakuul?" Fynta asked as if she hadn't been about to deck him. Koth noted concern in her voice that hadn't been there the last time they'd chatted about the Cathar.

Koth tucked bare hands into his pockets and shrugged. "The creepy droid found a way into the Spire. Havoc Squad is running point while Kaliyo offers backup." Fynta's brow shot up, and Koth sighed. "Yeah, tell me about it. I told Zolah it was a bad idea to put those two together, but she called it  _strategy_. What do I know? I'm just a decorated soldier."

Fynta rubbed her brow. "I should get in there." She swayed, then flopped into one of the less padded chairs.

"I don't think so. You still need a couple of days to rest." Koth squatted in front of Fynta. "Besides, they are in the planning stages now. The window doesn't open for another two weeks."

"Fierfek, I hate this," Fynta groused. Koth found the commander's pout kind of cute. Not that he looked at her in that way, just that she clearly hated her job. He could sympathize with that, but was glad it wasn't him.

Looking to cheer Fynta up, Koth patted her leg. "Captain Jorgan said he'd return in a couple of days, and that you can move back onto the base when you're done complaining." Koth held his hands up in defense when her eyes snapped up. "Don't shoot the messenger."

The commander slouched deeper into her seat with arms thrown over the handles and legs stretched in front of her. "Who has the next shift?"

"Trying to get rid of me already?" Koth argued in fake offense. He plopped down in the chair across from Fynta where he'd left his holomag. It was an old, outdated issue from nearly three years earlier, and Koth enjoyed that peek into Havoc's old life.

"No," Fynta huffed, then grinned. "I actually like you. Just wondering who's on the docket to watch over me. Knowing Aric, he didn't leave me a moment unsupervised."

Koth chuckled. "Nailed it. I think it was Vector, that new Jedi that you liked so much, Lana—don't make that face, she promised not to boss you around—Notiac, and I forgot the rest." The commander's mood turned surly again, so Koth nudged her foot with his. "That Jorgan's a good man, cut him some slack. He really cares about you."

The subtle shift in Fynta's posture drew Koth's attention. Otherwise, he might have missed her mumbled complaint: "That's the problem."

Never being one to leave well enough alone, Koth pressed the issue. "Why is it a problem that your husband cares about you?"

Fynta heaved a sigh and stared at the floor. "You know why. Don't pretend otherwise." When Koth shrugged, Fynta rolled her eyes. "I'll never get my memories back, I can't—it's just not possible."

Koth leaned forward. "Something you're not telling us?"

Fynta puffed a breath that ruffled her bangs and made a sound that the inner circles of Zakuulan society would have thrown a fit over. "I only get my memories back if I accept Valkorion's power. And no, Koth, I'm not about to give that shabuir control of my body, regardless of how good he was to your people."

"I didn't say it." Truthfully, Koth didn't like what he saw in the rest of the galaxy. He didn't understand how a man who had been nothing short of a benevolent god to Zakuul, could reap such chaos on everyone else. He was sure Valkorion had a good reason for what had happened to Fynta, but Koth couldn't for the life of him understand what it was. It made blind faith more difficult.

Fynta shot a glare at Koth before continuing. "I can't take that hope away from Aric," she finally whispered, looking at the floor again. "No one can know. It's too hard to resist the urge on my own, and stars forbid Cormac finds out."

Koth nodded. He'd heard a lot about the loveable lug from other members of the Alliance, along with Fynta's grumblings every time her comm buzzed with a new message. Koth liked a man who never gave up on his friends. "Make new memories, then," he suggested. "From what I understand of Cathar, Jorgan's tied to you for the rest of his life. Give the man a chance, maybe you'll fall for him all over again."

Dark blue eyes slowly rose to meet Koth's, and an impish smile spread across Fynta's face. "I never pegged you for the romantic type."

Koth snorted a laugh. "Then you haven't been paying attention, my friend. I'm the king of romance." This time, Fynta burst into laughter, then double over with a gasp. "Hey," Koth protested weakly, but it was good to see her old spirit again. He'd missed that.

Shoulders still shaking, Fynta growled through clenched teeth. "Damn you, Koth." More chuckles escaped, and she winced. "I'm going back to bed before you kill me."

Koth helped Fynta to her feet, then watched her limp back towards the room. She paused at the door to look back. "Thanks for the advice. Don't eat all the food."

**Odessen**  
**The Thunderclap**  
**0400 (Local Time)  
** **1700 (Zakuulan Time)**

Fynta chewed on what was left of her thumbnail while she stared at the holo. Felix snored in the barracks down the hall, loud enough that Fynta didn't have to strain to hear it. She wondered how his girlfriend managed to get any sleep.

The Nar Shaddaa team had returned the previous evening with a successful report. Not that the Holonet news hadn't blasted it all over the galaxy by then. Fynta felt both proud and useless when she considered how easily her squad had worked with the Force users. Felix arrived shortly after to take up guard duty and deliver his account. The soldier fell asleep halfway through it, and Fynta didn't have the heart to wake him. Eventually, he'd staggered off to find a bed.

Each of Fynta's sitters had demanded that she rest, and she'd done her best to comply for Jorgan's sake, when all she really wanted was some time on the base training course. Fynta paced her bedroom, slapping the datapad against the palm of her hand. She couldn't get her mind to settle; a single thought kept intruding: she wanted to talk to Aric.

That had been Fynta's latest indecision, whether or not to interrupt whatever the Cathar might be doing on Zakuul. She glanced at the chrono again to find ten minutes had passed. It was late enough now that he might not be busy.

" _What will you tell him?"_ Valkorion whispered. " _What could you possibly hope to discuss with a man you hardly know?"_

"Stow it," Fynta growled and dialed Aric's number before the undead Sith could talk her out of it. By the first ring, she already regretted the rash decision.

Fynta had just reached for the disconnect when Jorgan answered. "Fynta, are you alright?" The concern in Aric's voice did strange things to her emotions. Fynta forgot to respond until he asked again, evident panic rising. "Fynta, what's wrong, where's Iresso?"

"Asleep," Fynta answered on automatic, then corrected when the Cathar snarled. "I'm fine, don't worry. Felix hasn't let me leave the ship, but he's exhausted."

Jorgan visibly relaxed, waving to someone out of Fynta's view. "Pack it in for the night, we'll pick up again in the morning."

"Shab, Aric, I'm sorry." Fynta should have known not to disturb him so close to the ops window. "This was a bad idea. I'll see you in a few days."

"Fynta, wait." She did, though every part of her demanded that she hang up. Fynta sat awkwardly while Jorgan dismissed his soldiers, then headed for the privacy of his tent. Once inside, he set the holo on the desk and settled onto his cot. "Can't sleep?"

Fynta started to ask how Jorgan saw through her, how he understood that she was osik at this sort of thing, but snapped her mouth shut. Fynta already knew the answer. Anger stirred that she'd once had someone so devoted and had allowed herself to forget. "Yeah, been cooped up too long."

Jorgan chuckled. "I'm not sorry. Vector is supposed to help you move back into your quarters tomorrow."

"Will I still be grounded?" Fynta asked with a playful smile. The more she talked with Aric, the easier it became to imagine spending every night with him. Their relationship was more natural than it had any right to be, with no shortage of teasing.

Jorgan leaned back and crossed his arms. His short sleeves showed off impressive biceps, and Fynta didn't bother hiding her interest. "Depends. Planning to rush back into the field again?"

Normally, Fynta would lie. She'd tell the man what he wanted to hear, but something stopped her this time. "I can't sit out this war. You know that." To her surprise, Aric nodded.

Desperate to change the subject from her bad behavior, Fynta leaned closer to the holo. "Tell me a story," she requested. "Jog my memory."

Aric's eyes drifted for a second, and Fynta glanced down to realize how low cut her top was. No doubt the Cathar had a tempting view. To his credit, Aric met Fynta's gaze again. "It'll be hard to think of one that Cormac hasn't already mentioned."

Guilt gnawed at Fynta. She still hadn't responded to the soldier's messages. Every time she pressed reply, Fynta stared at the flashing cursor with nothing to say. Shab, she really was lousy at this. "Maybe something from  _our_ past. Cormac couldn't have been there through it all."

A twitch at the edge of Jorgan's lips was the only indication that he'd thought of something. Fynta wondered if it was a fun memory, something not suitable for the ears of friends and family. When Aric spoke, his question surprised her. "Do you remember that mutant Rakghoul on Taris?" Fynta reached for the memory, but only hazy images appeared.

"I'll give you a hint," Aric tapped the top of his head. "That's where your scar came from."

Fynta's hand went to her hairline where a small, white line was barely visible with her bangs slicked back. No one else had seen it, but Aric knew. "I remember that the stitches kept coming out."

Jorgan snorted and looked away. "No, you kept pulling them out. I had to suture that wound once, and Dorne took over the second time." Eyes made pale by the monochromatic image shifted towards her, and Aric smirked. "I learned a lot of Mando'a the day Elara decided to double knot each line."

"I don't believe you," Fynta laughed. She'd read the former Imperial's file too. Elara Dorne was married to Cormac, currently worked for Commander Jace Malcom, and had a son currently living on Coruscant. Fynta kept that to herself since Cormac hadn't mentioned having a kid in any of his letters, and his wife only once.

Aric shrugged and looked away. "You didn't break them again."

The night ticked on while Fynta and Jorgan reminisced. Every topic consisted of Aric regaling her with a story that sounded exactly like something she would do, and Fynta denying it. When the Cathar yawned, she glanced at the chrono. "Shab, Aric. You need to go to bed."

"I'm fine," Jorgan argued through another yawn. With those two words, the Cathar wormed his way deeper into Fynta's defenses. He could barely keep his eyes open and had a meeting scheduled in a few hours, yet chose to stay on the line.

Fynta smiled in a way that she hadn't imagined herself capable of and forced a yawn. "Well, I'm not. I think I'll turn in." If Fynta had a choice, she'd stay on the comm until he returned to Odessen. At least this was a safe way to experience her husband without her libido getting in the way.

"Before you go," Aric started, leaning closer to the camera. At that angle, Fynta could see the detailed patterns on his face. "How's the wound healing?"

Tugging up the back of her shirt, Fynta angled the holo so that Aric could see the pristine dressing. "I'm not leaking anymore."

"Good. If you take care of yourself and keep kolto on it, should be ready to go by the end of the week." Jorgan sat back to offer an expression that Fynta couldn't identify. "Thanks for calling, I needed to hear your voice."

Fynta almost grinned, that had been her reason too. "Going to keep me in the loop on this mission?"

Aric smirked and crossed his arms again. "Play your cards right, and you'll be participating."

Fynta's spine went rigid. "Wait, what?"

Jorgan nodded, his eyes serious. "Only if you can pass the physical. So, behave yourself."

"Playing dirty, aren't you?" Aric knew that Fynta couldn't resist the draw of a new mission. That it was the only thing that could make her follow through with a physician's regimen.

"I'm doing what I have to, because my wife won't take care of herself." Jorgan's expression shifted from playful to apologetic. Fynta knew that he tried not to bring up their marriage, and she hated to see him so cautious around her.

Fynta put her face closer to the camera. "It's fine. I've accepted that we're married." She paused, wondering if she should continue her train of thought, or quit while she was ahead. Fynta had never been one to play it safe. "I'm enjoying getting to know you again."

The Cathar's shoulders lifted, and he dipped his head. "It's been my pleasure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Story Index:**
> 
>  
> 
> The part about the weapon's rack can be found in _Family Is More Than Blood: Chapter 18: Balmorran Contract_
> 
> The scene involved the mutant rackghoul and stitches can be found in _Family Is More Than Blood: Chapter 6: Pest Eradication_


	22. Decisive Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fynta decides to go on the offensive. Jorgan begins to have hope. And plot starts to move forward again.

**Odessen**   
**Security Office**   
**Eight Days Later**

Even though Jorgan hadn't been able to find his way back to Odessen, Fynta made a point to speak with him whenever their schedules allowed. After what seemed like an eternity, the base medics finally cleared her for active duty. They had even sent a copy of Fynta's physical to prove to her stubborn Cathar husband that she  _could_ follow directions. Aric had grudgingly called off the babysitters after a growled warning that Fynta better be whole the next time that he saw her. When she'd grinned and made an off color remark about his plans, the Cathar had stunned her with a devilish smile.

Being forced to rest for a week had left Fynta with a luxury she rarely afforded herself: peace and quiet to think. She tried not to examine the flutter in her stomach every time the comm rang, and found herself wanting to dream of Aric whenever she slept. There had been more than a few waking fantasies about the Cathar, too. Despite the rest, Fynta's sleep was more troubled than ever, leaving her exhausted and unable to focus during already torturous meetings. It wasn't until she caught Jorgan's less than subtle worry about her health in their last conversation that Fynta decided she'd had enough of playing the old Sith's games. It was time for action.

Pushing through the door, Fynta entered the darkened room where Theron and Zolah's army of intelligence minions toiled. Pale light from the screens flitted across the faces of various species sifting through data for a chink in Arcann's armor. A familiar figure hunched at the largest terminal in the back: the man Fynta had come to see.

Theron glowered at his datapad, appearing completely absorbed in his task. Why shouldn't he? This was  _his_ domain. Fynta knew better. When the former spy refused to acknowledge her presence, she cleared her throat. It wasn't until she flicked at the wires connecting his implants to the terminal that Theron finally looked up.

At first, dark eyes blinked at Fynta in confusion, then narrowed in suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

Fynta pulled up a chair and spun it around to straddle the back. "I need advice."

Theron snorted and went back to work. A few seconds later, he glanced at Fynta again. "Wait, you're serious?"

Fynta rolled her eyes. "Mir'sheb. You got me into this mess. Now, you're going to help me figure it out."

An unfamiliar emotion colored Theron's hazel eyes, but it vanished before Fynta could read it. "Does this have to do with Jorgan?" At her nod, Theron sighed. "Alright, let me unplug, and we'll go get some 'caf."

It took Theron nearly ten minutes to close the numerous programs buzzing through his implants. Fynta winced at the knowledge that all that osik was wired directly into his brain. She remained silent while Theron alerted everyone necessary that he'd be out of touch. Then, they settled into a corner of the mess hall with two steaming mugs and awkward silence. There, at least, Theron could deactivate the security cameras remotely so they could speak openly.

"So," Theron began, making a face as he took a sip of subpar caf. "What's going on?"

Fynta rubbed her eyes with a thumb and forefinger, wondering if she really wanted to do this.  _Too late now_ , she decided, blowing air through her lips. "How much do you know about mine and Aric's relationship?"

Theron shrugged. "I didn't find out about it until Rishi, and you two were already a couple of years in by then. You did a hell of a job hiding it from the Republic." Fynta nodded. She figured as much since neither of their files listed them as married, and assumed that had probably been her doing. By what Fynta had gathered from Verin, she and Jorgan had shared Mandalorian vows, but even he didn't know much about their private life.

Not for the first time, Fynta wondered what kind of soldier she'd been. If Aric and Cormac were to be believed, she'd made a steadfast leader. Maybe a tad reckless. Aric hadn't seemed surprised to find Fynta injured, and his constant warnings to behave hinted at a lifetime of wound treatment. But, there was no denying the trust those men had in her, the loyalty and affection both were so desperate to show.

"Listen," Theron began, bringing Fynta out of her thoughts. "I barely recognized you during that Revan op. You weren't the same angry woman I knew back in the day. Whatever happened between you and Aric, it turned out better for everyone." He paused, jaw working like his caf had soured on his tongue. "It's the reason that I agreed to help Lana find you. When you're not being—"

"A pain in the ass," Fynta supplied with a grin.

Theron laughed. "I was going to say self-destructive, but pain in the ass works too." His expression softened. "You're an amazing commanding officer. But, right now you're lost, and that Cathar is the only person in this galaxy who knows how to find you."

"That's a lot of romantic dribble in one sentence," Fynta teased, refusing to admit that Theron had said exactly what she needed to hear. "I think the domestic life has given you ideals."

A satisfied smile pulled at the edge of Theron's lips. "Maybe. I've got a good thing going for the first time in—hell, ever."

Fynta reached across and ruffled Theron's hair in an effort to hide the way her heart pounded. The spy hissed and jerked back as she chuckled. Fynta knew where this road led; what she needed to do. She that hoped she was ready.

While Theron set about straightening the disheveled locks into an artful display of spikes, Fynta stood. "I'll take the next shipment of supplies myself. Think you can get by without me for a couple of days?"

Theron cast Fynta a suspicious glare. "You going to come back in one piece this time?"

"I don't plan to leave the swamp." The knowing smirk that Theron threw Fynta's way was almost enough to make her attack his hair again. Instead, she flashed an impolite hand signal before turning towards the hangar to get the  _Thunderclap_  ready. "Don't wait up."

**Zakuul  
** **Havoc Command Base**

Cormac grinned despite the pain screaming through his biceps. It wasn't right, a Twi'lek female being as strong as Xaban was, but there was no doubting the woman's skill. The younger soldier grunted in a decidedly unfeminine way, then growled when Cormac tightened his grip on her fingers. "All you have to do is say it."

Xaban swore in her native tongue, and Cormac guffawed even though he had no idea what she'd said. The tone was easy enough to follow, and Xaban could give any Navy grunt a lesson in the fine art of foul language.

A vibration crept up Balic's leg. Soft at first, then growing stronger with each passing second. He fished the comm from his pocket one-handed while trying to keep his arm upright. Until he realized which device was ringing. The only person to ever call that frequency was Elara. Cormac craned his neck to check the time on his wristchrono. She wouldn't contact him now, it was too risky.

Cold dread settled over Balic so fast that he barely noticed his knuckles slamming into the crate they'd used for a table. "I need to take this," he responded in a hollow voice.

As Balic ran to his tent, every scenario from Tayl breaking an arm, to Elara being killed in action, ran through his mind. By the time he reached the relative safety of those canvas walls, his stomach was ready to relieve itself of everything he'd eaten that day.

Pressing the answer key, Cormac held his breath. "What's wrong?"

"Sergeant?" Neither the voice, nor the image, belonged to who Cormac expected. Instead of Elara, another blonde came into view. "You okay?"

"Osik'la," Balic breathed as he flopped onto his cot. "You nearly gave me a heart attack, Fynta." When her brows furrowed, Cormac remembered that she was his commanding officer, not his friend. Damn, how he missed that woman. "Sorry, sir. I wasn't expecting your call. Need me to get Jorgan for you?" The Cathar had been in a better mood the last few days, at least. Better than Balic had seen him in years. Naturally, the surly bastard refused to comment on it.

Fynta smirked and leaned back. From that position, Balic could tell that she was on a bed wearing her under armor, with legs crossed in a way that would make his kneecaps pop off. He never understood how the cybernetic bent that way. "No, I actually called to talk with you. If you're not busy?"

Cormac's mouth worked, but words didn't form. When Fynta laughed, he finally managed to respond. "Me?"

"I've been told that we were vod," Fynta answered with a nod. "Verin speaks highly of you and your wife. He also asked me to pass along his comm signal."

"Well, yeah," Cormac beamed. "Elara's the best, he always liked her." Balic hadn't spoken with Verin in ages. The idea of contacting him brought back a flood of memories.  _Cinlat_. At least Fynta didn't seem to remember that part; Balic didn't want to be the one to bring it up.

Fynta's smile slipped. "Is that who you thought was calling?"

Cormac cleared his throat. He wasn't supposed to contact Elara, even Jorgan forbade it. They still snuck in the odd call, though, just to touch base. It broke Balic's heart to guard his words in front of Fynta. She was his best friend, the woman he could tell anything to. One slip of the tongue to the wrong ear, and Cormac would make Elara's life a lot more difficult. Fynta might not even mean to do it. "I, uh—"

Fynta held up a hand, cutting off his poorly thought out excuse. "The records I have say that she's still in the service of Jace Malcom, that true?"

Balic bristled at the implication. "I'm not selling your secrets, if that's what you mean,  _sir_." He probably shouldn't have enunciated her rank that way, but the idea of either he or Elara betraying Fynta pissed him off.

"It was a simple question, soldier. I wasn't accusing." Fynta's smile returned, easing Balic's nerves. "I'm trying to figure us all out, and your stories sound too far fetched to be lies." She swiped through her datapad before changing the subject. "Will you tell me about your son?"

Cormac gave an involuntary grin at the mention of Tayl. Balic missed him more than anything, and had dreamed of the day when he could introduce the boy to Fynta. "Hopefully, you'll meet him soon. If I can ever convince Elara to run away with me."

A sad gleam entered Fynta's eyes, made brighter by the flickering blue of her holo. "You named him Tayl?"

"Short for Taylir," Cormac answered. "We couldn't use the whole name in case someone accused us of supporting the enemy, but it was important."

"Odd choice," Fynta replied, eyes still locked on the datapad.

Cormac knew that Fynta wasn't actually reading anything, so he continued without demanding her attention. She'd never been great at looking a person in the eye when her emotions were out of sorts. "We named him in your honor, boss." This time, Fynta looked up, both brows high. Cormac smiled. "It was a reminder, whenever we looked at our son, of the woman who brought us together." Balic had wanted to tell Fynta about Tayl for so long, but it had never been the right time.

"I really don't know what to say, Cormac," Fynta whispered. She fidgeted with the datapad before switching it off. "Apart from how sorry I am."

Cormac hated seeing his one time friend so torn up over something she couldn't control, but the apology steeled his resolve. "No worries, boss. We'll have you sorted in no time. Until then, just tell me what you want to know."

A moment of awkward silence passed before Fynta's face lit with mischief. "Aric told me that we jumped off a thranta mid-flight? But when I asked for more, he muttered a lot of words I didn't even realize he knew."

Cormac threw his head back in laughter. "Yeah," he gasped, wiping a tear from his eye. "Jorgan used a lot of those words that day too."

**Zakuul**  
**Five Klicks Outside  
** **Havoc Base Command**

The unscheduled supply drop couldn't have come at a worse time. Jorgan still needed to finalize plans for the Spire assault, his window was rapidly approaching, and Cormac had split Havoc and the Exiles into separate recon missions with Kaliyo. Aric knew that it was mostly to get the Rattataki out of his fur for a few hours, but it reduced the base to a skeleton crew.

With no one else available, Jorgan led a small group to the landing site himself, then nearly unbalanced his hoverbike when he saw the  _Thunderclap_. Fynta stood at the bottom of the ramp, barking orders at two droids carrying a crate of supplies, and completely unaware of his arrival. Jorgan leaped off the bike and moved towards her before he'd put the vehicle fully into park.

Fynta turned at Aric's approach with a smirk that made his heart leap. She glanced around him to their transportation. "Those are new."

"Kindly provided by a couple of Knights who ventured too close to our territory," Jorgan answered. Fynta laughed, a sound that sped Jorgan's pulse further. He swallowed, unable to take his eyes off her. "What are you doing here?"

Fynta's countenance sobered, and she nodded towards the side of the ship where Kozen and Kaeto waited. "Going on the offensive."

"Here?" Jorgan replied as he realized her plan. Pulling his attention back to Fynta, a stab of fear made his chest clench. "You sure that's a good idea?"

Fynta's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I need to know, and it'll be a while before you make it back to Odessen." Aric recognized the facade in her casual answer. She was terrified of losing control of her mind and had already made him swear to oversee whatever the Sith did to her. In short, Fynta trusted him again.

Tipping his head, Jorgan resisted the urge to pull his wife into his arms. With fingers clenched into fists, Aric forced himself to remain professional in front of his men. "I've got a patrol in an hour, but I'm free tonight."

"Want some company?" Fynta asked, following Aric to the hoverbike. She chuckled when he hesitated to answer. "Surely we won't have a repeat of last time, besides," Fynta tapped the familiar helm that hung from her belt, "I got the seals reworked. Everything is fully functional again."

Leading Fynta back to the bike and throwing a leg over the, Jorgan motioned for her to get on. "You're the boss."

Fynta's arms wrapped tight around Jorgan's waist, making it difficult to concentrate. He forced himself to think about something other than how much he wished that they weren't separated by armor. Arriving at base was both a relief and a disappointment, doubly so when Fynta pulled away.

After ensuring that Kanner and Cormac had made it back to camp and had things well in hand, Jorgan headed out to a cliff overlooking the valley where Havoc had set up camp. Aric settled on the ground to sweep the site through his scope, then smiled when Fynta joined him. Her countenance had changed in the last week. She was more playful, less distant, and no longer hostile. They'd spent hours talking about their shared past, Fynta asking questions, and Aric doing his best to answer them. Some had been pointed, even painful, while others were fueled by simple curiosity.

After several minutes of silence, Fynta took a deep breath. "Before we go through with tonight. I need to ask you something."

Jorgan angled his visor, concerned by Fynta's tone. It took several more seconds her to gather her thoughts, and when Fynta spoke again, his blood turned cold. "Valkorion shows me snippets of memories every now and then. You've explained the others, but one in particular confuses me." Aric didn't know how, but he expected the next question. "Have we ever...seriously fought. Not just sparring, but—shab, I don't know how to ask this."

"It was after the prison asteroid," Jorgan answered, his voice carefully empty. Somehow, it always came back to that mission. "I made a call against your orders, and things went south for a bit." He didn't know how to explain the complex series of events that led to that fight. It wasn't something that words could make her understand.

"Oh," Fynta answered. She sounded surprised, no doubt expecting Aric to deny everything.

A patrol of four Skytroopers gave Jorgan a moment to gather his thoughts. His rifle cracked, dropping the first droid. Fynta followed suit, destroying the second. The familiarity of their actions settled his nerves. After the patrol was taken care of, Fynta pressed for more. "How did we get past it?"

"It took time," Aric replied. "That happened early in our relationship, right after the first kiss. I thought I'd lost you forever, but we fought through." He panned the foliage, pausing to watch a mother akk dog teach her pup to hunt equally young iknayid. "Neither of us were willing to give up."

Fynta didn't answer right away. Jorgan listened to her steady breathing, wondering what thoughts occupied her. Had his confirmation of that violence made her suspicious of him again? At last, Fynta let out a breath. "I really hoped you'd say something like that."

As Jorgan turned to ask for clarification, the ground beneath them rumbled, then vanished completely. He cursed as they rolled down the cliff face, coming to a stop in a heap of armor and tangled limbs. Fynta groaned, then started laughing. "This kind of stuff seems to be par for the course. I hesitate to ask how our dates went."

Staring up through the rubble, Jorgan spotted a small trickle of water pouring from beneath his chosen perch and dropped his head back with a sigh. It would be his luck to choose a vantage point sitting on an underground spring. Their combined weight must have tipped it over the edge.

Despite the pain pulsing through his body, Aric laughed too. "Our dates were usually worth a good story, the kind you can look back later on and laugh. Much later."

Fynta's snigger was drowned out by the crackle of the comm. "Uh, bosses, I hate to interrupt, but, you okay?" Cormac's voice sounded hesitant. "That noise sounded like it came from your direction."

"Fine," Jorgan answered between clenched teeth. "We're heading back. Send Abbeth and Xaban out." He cut the comms after receiving confirmation and wondered, not for the first time, if he was getting too old for this line of work. Most soldiers his age had moved to the command room, not abandoned their government in search of something less corrupt. Except maybe Tavus. Jorgan cut that line of thought the moment it sprang to mind. Going after Fynta was  _not_ the same as what the old Havoc commander had done. This wasn't about personal revenge, but rescuing his wife.

Fynta took point on the way back, and Aric couldn't help but notice her limp. "Tweaked your hip?" While it hadn't been a long fall, they'd rolled over one another several times before reaching the valley floor. Even after all these years, he still worried about the delicate circuitry that went into allowing his wife to walk.

"It's been bothering me for weeks." Fynta sighed, helmet swiveling at a stream crossing before continuing on.

"Been doing your stretches?" Aric smirked when Fynta paused, then looked back at him. A thought occurred to him. "I bet you don't remember the ones that we came up with together."

Fynta managed a hopeful laugh. "Are you saying that these stupid exercises worked at one point?"

Jorgan nodded. "If you do them our way." The image of another male getting that close to his wife forced the Cathar to swallow a growl. "Now that I think about it, I hope you haven't been."

This time, Aric could visualize his wife's eyebrow raise even through the faceplate. "That sounds fun."

A chill ran the length of Jorgan's spine at the hopeful lilt in Fynta's voice. He chuckled when the camp came into view. "Remind me to show you when we're alone." While he might regret that promise later, Aric liked the idea of her mulling over the possibilities all day.

Once they reached the safety of his tent, Jorgan dropped all pretense and grunted when he reached for the seal on his side. "You okay, soldier?" Fynta watched him from the door. Aric smiled at the strands of hair sticking out at odd angles while thick bangs framed her face. Helmets had a way of leaving a lasting imprint.

"Just getting old," Jorgan answered with a groan.

"Sure you are," Fynta snorted, dropping the last of her plates to approach him. Without waiting for permission, she began releasing the seals on his armor. "We should have a look at your ribs to make sure they weren't damaged in the fall."

Jorgan would have smiled at the familiar way Fynta handled him had he not been so aware of her presence. Taking a subtle breath, Aric closed his eyes to allow her scent to wash over him. Even without her memories, he saw glimpses of the old personality peeking through during times like this. To Fynta, Jorgan was an injured soldier in need of aid, and there was nothing inappropriate about her removing of his armor.

"Sorry," Fynta whispered, stepping back. Jorgan opened his eyes to catch an uneasy smirk on her lips as she held his chestplate against her torso. "I should have asked."

Fynta cast her eyes away from Aric's body in an uncharacteristic display of bashfulness. Attempting to lighten the mood, Jorgan cleared his throat. "It's fine. This is going to take some adjustment." Fynta smiled, relinquishing the armor, before turning away. Jorgan tried not to watch her move around the tent or notice the way her muscles flexed beneath the bodysuit.

"Aric?" Fynta asked as he lowered himself onto the cot to remove his boots.

Jorgan glanced up to find his wife directly in front of him, chest even with his face. Aric swallowed and forced his eyes higher. "Commander?"

Indecision danced behind Fynta's eyes for a heartbeat before her jaw tensed and she nodded. "I want to do this, Aric," she stated, then gestured between them. "Make this work, I just—I don't know what I'm doing."

The insecurity in his wife's voice tugged at Jorgan's protective nature. They had kept their marriage secret because of Fynta's concern that should anyone find out, they'd take away the one thing that was truly hers. Valkorion had found that deep-seated fear and preyed upon it in the worst way.

Taking Fynta's hand, Jorgan guided her to sit beside him. A flash of color drew Aric's eye, and he smiled at the white jewel that had slipped from beneath her bodysuit. It gave him hope to see it around her neck.

"I'll wait," Aric promised, pulling his attention away from the jewel to meet Fynta's eyes. "However long it takes."

Fynta toyed with the necklace, twisting it between her fingers the way she used to. Jorgan had just decided to give her space when Fynta touched his cheek. He froze, paralyzed by such a tender caress from a woman who could barely stand him mere weeks ago.

Fynta leaned closer, then paused. "Would you object to me kissing you?"

Not trusting his voice, Aric tipped his head. Her lips were sweet against his, soft and more gentle than he expected. Inhaling, Jorgan deepened the kiss this time, snaking an arm around Fynta's waist to draw her closer. She pressed against him until they were side by side on his cot. Not a particularly comfortable position, but one he'd gladly suffer for.

Aric held his wife, knowing that it wasn't a ruse this time. Fynta truly wanted to be closer to him. All too soon, the moment ended with Fynta pulling back with a contented sigh. Her eyes fluttered open. "If you always kiss like that, it's no wonder I fell for you."

Jorgan chuckled and busied himself with a lock of hair that had slipped its binding.

Their eyes locked, and Aric watched them harden. Without warning, Fynta shot to her feet. When she began pacing. Aric knew better than to interrupt, but his heart lodged in his throat while she worked through whatever internal struggled plagued her. After a few laps, Fynta looked into Aric's eyes. "I've made up my mind."

Fynta reached for the cuff on her wrist, and Aric held his breath as she pulled the branded leather off and held it out to him. "You say that what we had is worth fighting for, then I'm in."

Jorgan's heart sped up to an unhealthy pace as he stared at it. He'd told Fynta not to give it back until she was ready. "We're starting over?"

Fynta nodded, a coy smile spreading over her face. The expression made her eyes shine with life. She didn't speak until Jorgan lifted the band from her fingers. "I'm a pain in the shebs, Aric Jorgan. I hope you know what you're getting into."

Aric fastened the band, his token of their vows and missing for so long, around his wrist and stood to join her. Pushing a strand of pale hair from Fynta's forehead, the Cathar offered a toothy grin. "Woman, that's the understatement of the century."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a:**  
>  osik'la: impolite exclamation  
> vod: comrades  
> taylir: to preserve one's memory
> 
> **Chapter Codex:**  
>  Jumping off a thranta (Family is More Than Blood: Chapter 14: Unconventional Transportation)  
> Fight between Fynta and Jorgan (Family is More Than Blood: Chapter 20: Retribution)


	23. The Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fynta finally understands what's happening in her dreams, and makes a new commitment to her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The title of this chapter came from the song _Through the Fire_ by Zayde Wølf**
> 
>  
> 
> **The chapter gets an M rating for sexual content.**

**Zakuul**  
_**The Thunderclap  
** _ **2200 Hours**

_Fynta stood on the battlefield long after the war had been lost. The Republic standard lay in crumbled ruins at the base of the Senate Tower, while other pieces dangled by thin wires. The tower that it normally announced smoldered, littering the once beautiful skywalk with rubble._

" _Interesting."_

_A deep voice pulled Fynta's attention away from the carnage. Every move felt sluggish. Like the air pressed on her from all sides. Even breathing became a chore when she tried to incorporate movement as well._

" _This is your nightmare?" Kozen asked with a raised brow stalk. "I hadn't taken you for the patriotic sort."_

_Fynta shook her head. The appearance of a Sith in the Republic capital should have troubled her. Why didn't it? "I don't think so," she answered after a pause. "Everything falls, eventually." Something would rise to replace the Republic, and Fynta would fight for, or against it. Hers was a simple life._

_Blaster fire echoed off the walls of a cavern that Fynta didn't remember entering. "Clearly not all," Kozen remarked, gliding effortlessly through the sludge while Fynta trudged behind. She heard the shouts of resistance and felt an overwhelming pull to join them._

_When Fynta found the Sith, he stood with hands clasped behind his back. Something about the tilt of Kozen's head tugged at Fynta's memories. She followed his gaze, then a wave of nausea double her over. "Aric." The Cathar's name rasped through her dry throat. How had she not recognized his voice? "I took too long."_

_A row of corpses trailed behind her husband's. The mangled remains of people Fynta knew, her family. Rage replaced sorrow, and she spun on the Sith. "What did you do?"_

_Kozen shrugged in the face of Fynta's fury. "This was not my doing," he answered, infuriating her all the more._

_With a ragged cry, Fynta lunged at Kozen, who batted her away like an insect. "Think," Kozen hissed, his next words cut short when his head snapped back. Fynta prepared for an attack from their unseen assailant, but it was useless. Her muscles locked up, followed by a wave of hatred and fear so strong that her stomach heaved a second time._

" _Valkorion," Fynta snarled when the former emperor materialized before them. He held Kozen by the throat as if the large Sith were a particularly irritating manka kitten. Kozen thrashed, but only succeeded in pulling a bored laugh from his former master._

" _You are nothing more than a petulant child, Lord Wrath," the emperor sneered. "Playing with powers you could never understand. Be gone." Kozen's eyes grew dull, teeth bared in a croaking snarl. Then, he vanished, and the ground shifted to spill Fynta onto a wooden floor._

" _On your feet," Aric laughed as he heaved Fynta upright. "You'll get the hang of that leg soon." The battlefield was gone, replaced by her apartment on Nar Shaddaa. She was home, safe with her husband, away from war and the terrors that haunted her sleep. Fynta allowed herself a relieved sigh. It had all been a dream._

_Once stable, Aric released Fynta, but didn't move far. "You good?"_

" _I am now." Fynta flashed a devilish smile. "Just to be clear, if I trip, are you going to carry me to bed?"_

_With a husky laugh, Aric slid his arms around Fynta from behind and kissed the back of her neck. "If you're lucky."_

_Fynta turned in her husband's arms to find a peculiar expression on his face. With brows furrowed, the pattern of dots and lines gave him a confused look, then his mouth opened, but no sound came out._

" _Aric?" Fynta moved her hands to catch him as he slid to the floor. She was stuck again. Helpless to do more than watch as he thumped against the wood. A sob stuck in Fynta's throat at the sight of a dark circle creeping from beneath him._

_Valkorion paced a slow circle around Aric, then paused to toe the body with a regal boot. When his attention shifted back to Fynta, he smirked at her murderous glare. "I'll give this all to you," he began with a wave towards where Aric lay. In a flash, the Cathar stood in parade rest, hard eyes staring straight ahead. A feeling of deja vu crawled over Fynta; she'd been here before. Done_ this  _before. "You can have them back, if—"_

Blackness sucked Fynta into oblivion with a suddenness that made her cry out. It was quickly replaced by blinding light and pressure on her face. "Damn it, Fynta. Wake up." Bright, blue eyes encompassed her vision, slowly resolving into a patterned expression of concern.

"Aric?" Relief washed over Fynta, accompanied by the unsettling sensation of a memory sliding away. Within seconds, only frustration remained. "Did it work?"

Aric's brows pulled together, and he offered a hand to help Fynta sit up. Kozen crouched by the door on the balls of his feet while Kaeto hummed softly. By the look on the big Sith's face, things hadn't gone according to plan.

"Fierfek," Fynta groaned.

"Whereabouts," Aric responded to Fynta's curse. She noticed that his hand still rested on her bent knee; she didn't mind.

Running both hands down her face, Fynta forced herself to break the silence. "So, what happened?"

"Valkorion is rooted deeper than we feared." Kozen's bass voice sounded steadier than he looked. Fury glowed in the Sith's eyes when he growled the next words. "He recognized me, cast me out of the dream." Fynta had never seen anything aside from cool indifference from the former Wrath. The venom in his tone raised the hair on the back of her neck.

Fynta cleared her throat. "That's bad, right?" She caught a cautionary side glance from Aric. Clearly, he sensed Kozen's tenuous grip on his emotions too.

Kaeto answered while Kozen continued to glare at the floor, her thick accent giving the words more foreboding. "Valkorion holds your memories ransom, as you expected, but there is more." Though Fynta had never understood how it worked, she knew that the two Force users shared a unique bond. Kaeto would have experienced everything Kozen did while in the dream.

Before Kaeto could continue, Kozen rose to his full height with a grace only a Force user could manage. "Death." His eyes flicked to Aric, and Fynta felt her stomach knot. Slowly, the Sith's gaze fell on her. "You will remain powerless to stop it until Valkorion is banished from your mind. He feeds on your rage, growing stronger as you tire."

Kaeto nodded. "It is no wonder you stay exhausted. Eventually, Valkorion will wear down your defenses, and you will succumb."

Silence followed the revelation. Fynta had known that something bad happened in her dreams, or she wouldn't reach for her blaster immediately upon waking. But, the pity in Kaeto's eyes when she looked at Aric meant it was worse than Fynta expected, far worse.

Jorgan spoke first, voice raw but calm. "We appreciate your help." Another pause before he sighed. "Give us the room, please."

Sith and Jedi alike tipped their heads before slipping into the hallway. Jorgan didn't speak until the airlock hissed. "Fynta, we don't—"

"Are you happy?" Fynta wasn't sure where the words came from other than recognizing that this unending loneliness had to be torture for Aric. He'd been patient so far, but now that they had a better understanding of the danger, Fynta knew all possibility of regaining her memories was gone. Aric would be stuck with a phantom of the woman he'd loved. Would that be any better?

Jorgan stared at Fynta through the dim light. "What do you mean?" She winced at the note of panic in his voice. Before Fynta could consider her reply, Aric dropped to the floor by the bed so that he could look into her eyes. "What are you asking me?"

Fynta swallowed. "What if this is all that is left?" She despised the weakness that her words conveyed, but needed an answer before whatever this was went further. "Can you live with a shell of a wife?"

With a gentleness that surprised Fynta, Aric took her face in his hands. Relief filled his eyes. Her earlier suggestion of parting ways had cut him deeper than she realized. "Cathar mate for life," he answered simply. The repeated phrase had annoyed Fynta in the past, but she found that she didn't mind this time.

Fynta closed her eyes when Aric placed a soft kiss on her forehead, smiling when his lips moved against her skin. "I've got your back until the end." Fynta swallowed around the lump in her throat, wondering if he knew how much those words meant to her.

"How long have we been married?" Fynta questioned when Jorgan eased back to give her space.

Leaning back on his heels, Aric glanced at the ceiling while counting. "Four years before you vanished." His open hand rested near Fynta's knee in invitation. She let her fingers hover, then lowered them into his waiting palm. "Almost ten years total." Warm fingers wrapped around hers.

The combination of Aric's deep voice with the sensation of his skin against hers made Fynta's heart rate increase. "Ten years," she breathed, staring at their joined hands. "Never thought of myself as the settling type."

A quiet chuckle dragged Fynta's attention up to Aric's tight-lipped smirk. She'd noticed that he rarely showed his teeth, never outside of their private conversations. Fynta's breath caught when she realized that he no longer presented as a Cathar to her, but a man like any other.  _Her_ man. "Tell me something about the woman you knew," Fynta blurted. She needed to understand how similar they were, to know if the woman who met him on Ord Mantell had held the same distrust that she did in the Endless Swamp two months ago.

Jorgan shifted on his knees, and Fynta remembered him limping only a few hours ago. "Fierfek, get off that floor before you hurt yourself," she exclaimed. Aric grunted when Fynta grabbed the collar of his shirt to pull him onto the bed. Aric settled against the headboard while she sat cross-legged at the end. He sighed and stretched both legs out with hands tucked behind his head. Fynta couldn't help but admire the image he presented. It was a lot better in color than on the holo.

"You aren't much different," Aric answered. "Still reckless and stubborn. Chaos wrapped in human form.

Fynta brightened enough to smile. "I'll take that description." Her gaze lingered on Aric's uncovered arms, then trailed to his chest. She knew how soft his hands felt, and couldn't stop herself from wondering what the rest of him looked like. Fynta opened her mouth to ask, then snapped it shut.

Aric lowered one arm from behind his head and held it between them. "Go on." When Fynta met his gaze, he smirked. "I know you want to."

Slowly, Fynta crawled closer to let her fingertips sink into the fur over Aric's bicep. The combination of smooth skin, coarse hair, and hard muscle tightened Fynta's stomach. She saw his jaw work, and moved her exploration lower. Fynta applied more pressure as she grazed the inside of his elbow, then across his forearm. Aric's muscles twitched at her touch, a phenomenon that she repeated to some amusement. Fynta heard him swallow and glanced up to find his eyes glowing. It was hard to say whether or not their shine was brighter than before, but the sight infused her body with heat either way.

Movement caught Fynta's attention, drawing it to where Aric's free arm now rested over his lap. An impish grin played on her lips when she looked up again, and he took a slow inhale. "Fynta—" She didn't give him a chance to finish that thought. They'd come too far, and Fynta wasn't ready to stop.

Aric growled in the back of his throat when Fynta's tongue traced his lip. She shivered at the sound, then again when his hands settled on her waist to guide her into his lap. Had Aric pushed her away, Fynta would have relented. He had full control over the moment, and Fynta wouldn't do anything to interrupt his enthusiasm now that he pulled her close.

Fynta had just lost herself to their kiss when her holo buzzed. Jorgan snarled as he leaned over to snag the device off the side table. "Every. Fucking. Time."

Fynta couldn't suppress her grin at Aric's agitation, and made a mental note to ask about their apparent bad luck with ill-timed calls. Later. "Commander Wolfe's busy, what can I do for you?" It should bother Fynta that Aric answered her holo without hesitation, but there was a domesticity to it that made her feel things she couldn't name.

"Any chance she'll be  _un-_ busy before dawn," Theron sighed, head swiveling as if he might catch a glimpse of Fynta if he looked hard enough.

"Not if I get my way," Jorgan answered, and Fynta slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. He ignored her. "Is it mission critical?"

Rubbing his temples, Theron sighed. "Just tell the commander to contact me on her way back. Theron out."

Jorgan laughed as he disconnected the call. "I've wanted to do that for years." Fynta's brow raised, and Jorgan's smile widened a fraction. "Long story."

They stared into one another's eyes until Aric dropped the holo off the side of the bed and tangled his fingers in Fynta's hair. He didn't kiss her. Carefully, Aric tugged the binding free and worked the tangles through his fingers until it no longer offered resistance. "Still as soft as I remember."

"I understand," Fynta stated before she realized what she meant. Aric swallowed and dropped one hand to her natural leg while the other cradled the back of her neck. He didn't speak, as if knowing that Fynta needed time to get her thoughts in order.

"I know why you've been so hesitant around me, and I'm ready," Fynta clarified, her heart pounding at the hope in Aric's eyes. "I want to be your lifemate again, if you'll have me."

When Fynta had first learned of this relationship, she'd been furious. She had even thought that it might be some sick joke. After only two months with Major Aric Jorgan, Fynta understood. Theron had been right: this Cathar made her stronger.

Aric's voice cracked when he whispered Fynta's name. The desperation in it, the way he kissed her so thoroughly, broke through the final layer of protection that she'd wrapped around herself. While Fynta still didn't remember him, there was a part of her heart that knew he belonged there.

A low groan rolled through Aric's chest when Fynta pressed closer. She settled all of her weight into his lap and experimentally rocked her hips. His grip in her hair tightened to the point of pain before relaxing again. When Fynta's hands lowered to Jorgan's stomach, he broke their kiss to grab her wrist. "Slow down." Aric pulled her hand free with a husky laugh.

"I'm not a fan of slow." Fynta yanked her shirt over her head.

Jorgan's eyes fell from Fynta's bared middle down to where she worked at the snaps on her pants. "I know," he breathed, curling long fingers around hers again. His sincerity gave her pause, enough to momentarily surrender her goals.

"Then, what is it?" Fynta asked as she pressed his palm to her stomach below her ribs. "Second thoughts?"

Jorgan released the captured air from his lungs in a rapid gush. Shaking his head, Aric met Fynta's gaze. "I'm not going to last once I'm inside you." A hint of amusement shone in his eyes. "Let's savor this a little longer."

Relieved that Aric hadn't changed his mind, Fynta worked her hands beneath his shirt and steadily lifted until most of his torso was exposed. "I understand how this works," she assured, giving the fabric an impatient jerk. Aric obliged by tipping his head forward and lifting his arms to allow her to pull it free. Leaning close enough to press her bared skin to his, Fynta closed her eyes and allowed his warmth to seep into her.

In a move that stole her breath, Aric flipped Fynta onto her back and pinned her wrists above her head. Fynta wiggled her hips with a grin. "That's more like it."

The corner of Aric's mouth quirked as he began to kiss down Fynta's stomach. Every muscle in her body tightened in expectation, then relaxed when he started back towards her mouth. Fynta let out an irritated sigh. "Six years without sex, and you find the will to tease me?"

Fynta felt the vibrations of Aric's laugh where his chest pressed against her stomach. "I've always enjoyed teasing you," he answered between kisses. "You never learned the benefit of patience."

To Fynta's surprise, her smile grew. That sounded exactly like a lesson that she would refuse to learn. Judging by the way Aric pressed his hips against her leg, she probably enjoyed his repeated attempts to convince her otherwise.

Humming in pleasure, Fynta wanted to tell Aric how good he felt, but the wrong words spilled out. "I don't like not knowing how to respond."

When Aric's cool eyes pinned Fynta with a sympathetic stare, she realized her mistake. She'd always been able to read a mark, but Aric had history on his side. "I mean, I wish I could remember something that you like."

Climbing back up Fynta's body, Aric settled on his side with one hand on her stomach. "Let me jog your memory."

Thankful that she hadn't ruined the mood, Fynta offered a challenging grin. "I'm all yours."

"Close your eyes." It was an odd request, but Fynta obeyed. She focused on the way Aric's fingers trailed a languid path over her body. He didn't grope or snatch at her clothes, but treated each curve with admiration. Even when he reached her breasts, there was a sense of respect in his actions. While this sort of gentle foreplay typically bored Fynta, she couldn't deny that Aric's persistent touches had an arousing effect.

Unable to stop herself, Fynta opened her eyes to meet Aric's gaze. The soft, blue glow dazzled her to the point that she didn't notice when his hand slid through the opening in her pants until lyth fingers ghosted over her sensitive flesh. "Fierfek," Fynta gasped, arching her back.

Fynta's breath quickened while Aric continued his lazy exploration of her body. Her hips moved against his hand, desperate for more friction. When Aric leaned forwards to tuck his cheek against hers, Fynta expected to feel his tongue on her ear. She relaxed in expectation, then cried out when his fingers plunged inside her. When he started to withdraw, Fynta clutched at his shoulder. "Gedet'ye."

A slow smile graced Aric's features, one that showed a lot of sharp teeth. " _That's_  what I like."

Gone were the gentle caresses that had pushed Fynta to the brink of madness. Aric's hand worked with a force that jarred her entire body, but it wasn't until his teeth scraped the flesh between neck and shoulder that Fynta's world shattered. Her muscles seized, lungs stalling until pleasure gave way to incoherent Mando'a. Aric didn't slow his pace, keeping up the pressure through aftershocks that were no less intense than her initial climax.

Slowly, Fynta's senses returned. She realized that Aric's free hand was splayed across her stomach, pinning her to the bed. Another unmistakable sensation was the way he ground against her thigh with short, ragged breaths. Still, Aric didn't move to satisfy his own need. He simply stared down with an expression that both warmed and terrified Fynta.

"Shab," Fynta sighed, then decided that one word was sufficient enough to describe her satisfaction when Aric laughed.

Pushing Aric onto his back, Fynta offered an impish grin when she straddled his knees. The intensity with which he watched her hands as she reached for the snaps of his pants caused another wave of heat to rise in the pit of her stomach. Fynta tugged the rough material out of the way, being sure to touch everywhere except the one place he needed it most.

Aric let out an exasperated groan when Fynta placed a light kiss on his hip bone. "Guess I deserved that."

"Kinda, yeah." Fynta's grin widened at the Cathar's narrowed eyes while she finished stripping them both. Fynta hadn't known what to expect the first time she saw Aric naked. Part of her had been afraid that he'd revolt her. While Fynta had partaken in her share of aliens, none had been covered in fur. As she studied him, Fynta found Aric to be—simply put—beautiful.

"Having second thoughts?" Aric threw Fynta's earlier concern back at her when she hesitated too long.

Shaking her head, Fynta trailed more kisses up Aric's legs, pausing to let her breath wash over his entire pelvis. Aric's fingers tangled in Fynta's hair a moment before her lips would have enveloped him. Glancing up, she offered a questioning look when he kept her at bay. Aric shook his head. "I'm right there, already." The whispered need in his voice sent a shiver through Fynta.

With a gentle tug, Aric guided Fynta up his body until she straddled his hips. "I haven't felt my wife in six years," he breathed, loosening his hold to slide his hands down her body. "This is how I want to rekindle those memories."

Leaning forward, Fynta pressed a gentle kiss to Aric's lips. She wanted to speak, maybe reassure him that she wouldn't let them be separated again, but the lump in her throat made it impossible. She'd always been better with actions than words anyway. With a twist of her hips, Fynta sank down to meet her husband.

Jorgan threw his head back with a growl, then pressed his face between Fynta's breasts to stifle other, less human sounds. Every muscle in his body tensed, arms gripping like a vice. With a few, sharp thrusts, he held Fynta fast and made a noise somewhere between a moan and a purr. Fynta moved against her husband's grip, dragging more than one curse from the Cathar, until he finally relaxed. As Aric trembled against her, Fynta wrapped her arms around his shoulders until his breathing resumed a normal rhythm.

Together, they laid back on the bed with Fynta's head tucked under Aric's chin while he toyed with her hair. When he shifted, Fynta grumbled. Aric's arms tightened around her, and he buried his face against her hair. "I've missed this," Jorgan whispered on an inhale. "Your scent faded faster than I thought it would." Another deep breath, followed by a much rougher exhale.

Shifting to the side, Fynta settled on the bed next to Aric and propped on one elbow with her temple pressed against her knuckles. "I'm here now, and I'm so sorry for the years you spent alone."

Pulling Fynta closer, Aric kissed her forehead. "Wish you didn't have to leave tomorrow." His hand slid over Fynta's ribs, to her waist, pausing to trace the scars that marred her back. The sensation was oddly soothing.

"I wish I could stay," Fynta agreed, allowing herself to be lulled by his caresses. If she had her way, Fynta would leave the Alliance and run away with this Cathar. She was tired of war and the threat of loss. Though it had taken this quiet moment of peace to realize it.

"Tell me something about the time after they brought you out?" Aric's voice carried through the room even though he spoke softly.

Fynta considered her options. There was so much to say, but she didn't want to sully the moment with depressing stories of carbon sickness or her new scars. Fynta smiled when a particular instance came to mind. "Have you heard any of the war council promise to have something done in three minutes?" Fynta felt Aric's nod when his chin brushed her hair. "While we were escaping the Spire, Koth managed to get himself shot down and had to—acquire a new shuttle. It took a lot of promises of  _three more minutes_  before Lana and I could risk making a run on the landing."

Aric chuckled. "Should've let you fly."

"Oh, he did," Fynta assured her husband. " _After_  we'd been hit by anti-aircraft cannons. Then, he and Lana argued the rest of the night about whose fault it was that we crashed into the swamp." Fynta left out the part about her spending most of that night relieving the meager contents of her stomach into the foliage.

Aric's arms tightened around Fynta. "Sounds like the average day in Havoc squad." His chest expanded in what Fynta realized was a yawn. "We should probably sleep. Dawn comes early."

Fynta wanted to argue. If they slept, then the time to part ways would be on them faster, but Aric was right. Tomorrow brought more ops planning for him and a long trip back to Odessen for her. "If you insist." She shifted to her right side to take the pressure off her artificial hip. To Fynta's surprise, Aric settled behind her and pressed his face into her hair. With a deep breath, his body relaxed, and the arm draped over her waist became heavy.

The warmth from Aric's body soothed Fynta, allowing her to settled into a comfortable daze that she hadn't experienced since Lana pulled her out of carbonite. A soft rumble began a moment later, and as she drifted to sleep, Fynta wondered if Aric knew that he purred.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
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